UNJV.  OF  CALIF.  LffiRARY,  LOS  ANGELES 


i  < 


Stubs  of  Time 

+*r 


By  jefcwarfc  Cumberland) 


Illustrations  by 
tbe  Butboc 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress  in  the  year  1904,  by 

P.  H.  ATLETT, 
In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress  at  Washington. 


Press  of  Nixon- Jones,St.  Louis,  1904. 


CONTENTS. 

APOLOGY        5 

DEDICATION  :  —  To  CLARA  :  A  RHAPSODY      ....  7 

THE  SEAL  OF  DE  BUELEYVILLE 19 

UNCLE  BILLY'S  ADVICE 115 

NOVEMBER 138 

MISTRESS  CARRINGTON  OF  VIRGINIA 158 

AFTER  ALL 207 


2126254 


APOLOGY. 


APOLOGY. 

At  the  request  of  friends  (whose  literary  discrimination 
and  taste  I  do  not  guarantee)  I  submit  this  heterogeneous 
collection  of  writings  to  the  press.  Perhaps  it  is  with  our 
books  as  it  is  with  ourselves  —  we  cannot  see  them  as 
others  do ;  yet,  in  justice  to  myself,  I  will  say  that  I  am 
fully  aware  that  there  are  many  shortcomings  herein  con- 
tained. I  confess  to  extravagancies  of  rhetoric  and  fancy, 
possible  errors  of  grammar,  crudities  of  style  and  construc- 
tion —  all  of  which  I  have  had  neither  the  time  nor  incli- 
nation to  correct  or  ameliorate.  The  productions  have 
been  the  outcome  of  odd  moments  of  leisure  —  stubs  of 
time  —  and  I  let  them  go  as  they  are,  without  pruning  or 
patching. 

Should  any  deem  them  worthy  of  adverse  criticism,  let 
the  blame  be  laid  on  my  friends,  who,  perchance,  with  evil 
intent  and  a  subtle  application  of  that  seductive  unction  of 
flattery,  to  which  we  are  all  more  or  less  susceptible,  especi- 
ally in  connection  with  our  fond  foibles  and  hobbies,  have 
led  me  to  believe  that  there  is  some  merit  among  the  dross. 

I  might  say,  with  Poe,  that  literature  has  been  to  me,  not 
a  purpose,  but  a  passion  and  a  pastime.  Circumstances 
have  always  demanded  that  whatever  plug  of  a  Pegasus 
nature  bestowed  upon  me  should  be  usually  hitched  to  a 


6  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

more  practical  vehicle  than  the  ethereal  car  of  dreams  and 
visions  in  which  literati  must  embark  for  Parnassian  pas- 
sage. When  my  jaded  equine  has  been  turned  loose  to 
cavort  in  the  pleasant  fields  and  daisied  meadows,  it  has 
been  only  after  a  day  at  the  plow,  with  the  sweat-marks  on 
his  back,  and  the  thunder  of  his  neck  all  chafed  with  the 
wearying  collar  (to  stretch  metaphorical  latitude).  Hence, 
his  gambols  should  be  regarded  charitably ;  if  they  appeal- 
stiff,  stilted,  queer  or  ungraceful,  give  him  a  grain  of 
allowance. 

Of  the  illustrations,  the  less  said  the  better.  Let  them 
howl  for  themselves.  There  is  one,  however,  which  I  feel 
will  make  amends  for  the  rest.  It  is  not  an  original,  nor 
am  I  fortunate  owner  of  its  priceless  prototype  ;  but  it  is  a 
replica  of  a  wondrous  and  perfect  piece  of  artistic  creation. 
The  possessor  of  the  original  was  most  influential  among 
those  who  persuaded  me  into  publication.  My  final  yield- 
ing was  conditioned  upon  permission  to  use  the  picture  as  a 
frontispiece.  Such  a  bargain  I  regard  as  a  masterstroke  of 
policy  on  my  part ;  for  I  feel  confident  that  with  so  beauti- 
ful, and  heretofore  unpublished,  work  of  art  in  my  book,  its 
sale  cannot  but  be  immense  in  spite  of  its  other  contents. 
With  such  a  picture  adorning  its  front  page  a  census  report 
could  not  fail  to  speedily  become  the  popular  book  of  the 
year. 

EDWARD  CUMBERLAND. 


DEDICATION. 


DEDICATION 

To  CLARA:  A  RHAPSODY. 

"  She  lives,  and  hath  a  family;  but  'tis  not  mine:  so  say  I  she's 
dead."  —  Etherege. 

"Here,  boy,  bring  me   a  pen — I    have   seen   something  in  a 
woman's  eye,  and  I  am  mad  to  write." 
"  A  goose-quill,  Sir?  " 

"  No,  thou  fool,  but  the  plume  of  a  lark  or  nightingale,  or  an 
eagle's  primary.     I  feel  it  in  me  to  soar,  and  sing  sweetly." 
"And  your  ink,  Sir?  " 
"  Let  it  be  the  blood  of  a  dove." 
"  Your  script,  Sir?  " 

"  The  pelt  of  a  white  doe  that  died  of  love." 
"  And  you  would  write  that  you  saw  in  her  eyes?  " 
u  Ay,  thou  ninny." 
"  A  woman's  eye  is  never  under  oath:  be  careful,  Sir." 

—  Charles  Sedley. 

Sweetheart,  alas !  I  sadly  realize 

That  'twere,  indeed,  a  vain  and  fruitless  stress  — 

The  feeling  born  of  looking  in  your  eyes 

To  daring  essay  to  express. 

I  know  —  woe's  me !   'tis  but  a  sacrifice, 
The  effort  best  that  we  can  put  forth  here  — 
A  patient  climbing  to  the  Paradise 
Which  we  shall  miss  that  others  be  more  near. 


STUBS    OF   TIME. 

We  strive,  we  work,  we  hope,  we  die ; 
We  never  reach  the  heights  we  feel : 
While  e'er  before  us  still  more  high 
Mounts  the  path  of  our  ideal. 

We  trudge  our  path,  and  turn  aside, 
And  rest  resigned  in  the  shade,  — 
All's  well  if  life  has  only  cried, 
"  On,"  to  the  Race  —  "no  retrograde !  " 


E'en  with  your  picture  here  before  me  now, 
As  lowly  paddock  singing  to  the  sun, 
The  humble  efforts  of  unlaurell'd  brow 
I  offer  you  the  each  and  every  one. 


I  look  on  thy  face,  and  dream ; 
I  look  on  thy  lips,  and  sigh ; 
And  Heaven  and  Hell  doth  seem 
Within  thy  face  to  lie. 


DEDICATION. 

Yes,  Hell  it  is,  yet  sweet  — 
Great  God,  I'd  have  it  so ! 
And  bitter  Heaven,  meet 
For  a  soul  in  dulcet  woe, 

Thy  lips,  thy  brow,  thy  hair, 
Thy  cheek,  thy  neck,  thine  eye 
Were  Basilisk  half  .so  fair 
I  could  but  look  and  die. 


I  will  not  now  complain 
That  I  have  drunk  the  wine  ; 
I'll  take  the  lees  of  pain 
With  the  pleasure  that  was  mine. 

I  will  not  now  complain 
Because  the  wine  is  gone : — 
O,  Lord,  'twas  sweet  to  drain 
That  cup  no  god  would  scorn ! 

I  do  not  rue  I  quaff' d : 
The  wine  was  worth  the  bane  ; 
Though  Sin  did  brew  the  draught 
Fain  would  I  drink  again. 


10 


STUBS    OF    TIME. 


Not  mine  the  call  to  preach  and  moralize  — 
Some  ships  must  sink  that  others  know  the  shoal  - 
Content  to  drink,  and  then  to  agonize, 
I  fall  and  fail,  still  pointing  to  the  goal. 

New  creeds,  new  faith,  and  still  a  deeper  yearn ; 
More  hungry  grows  the  mighty  Human  Heart 
For  deeds  that  love  and  living  words  that  burn, 
For  men  who  bear  to  other  Meccas  than  the  mart. 

They  laugh  at  love  whose  heart  is  cold, 
They  laugh  at  love,  and  mocking  sneer,  — 
Forget  their  youth,  and  hug  their  gold, 
And  Mammon  mounts  on  Cupid's  bier. 


DEDICATION.  11 

0  Love,  O  Death,  O  Time  — 
Dispensers  three  of  human  fate, 
Unto  your  awesome  shrine 

1  come  and  supplicate. 

Tell  me  the  riddle  of  the  Sphinx, 
The  cause  and  why  of  weal  and  woe. 
Speak  out!  —  a  coward,  he  who  shrinks 
From  cursed  truth,  or  fears  to  know. 

A  suppliant  at  thy  solemn  fane, 

A  love  eterne  my  subtle  myrrh, 

A  frankincense  of  holy  pain, 

And  pastil  bless'd  —  a  thought  of  Her. 

Hear  me,  I  pray,  and  give  me  ruth, 
Ye  halcyon  three,  ye  dread  triune : 
An  humble  seeker  after  truth, 
O  solve  for  me  life's  tragic  rune. 

Why  hearts  beat  only  for  to  break  ; 
Why  birth  is  budding  of  the  bier ; 
Why  close  upon  gay  laughter's  wake 
Comes  the  inevitable  tear. 

Why  passion  comes  with  sacred  fires ; 
Why  wisdom  seeks  in  vain  to  find 
Whence  comes  the  yearning  which  aspires, 
And  bids  us  look  beyond  mankind. 


12  STUBS    OF   TIME. 

O,  speak,  ye  three  —  is  man  all  clay, 
A  puppet  and  a  mere  machine? 
Is  science  vain  ?  Will  truth  gainsay 
The  teaching  of  the  Nazarene  ? 

Is  love  a  farce?  Must  we  decry 
The  pilot  who  directs  his  way 
By  cynosure  of  woman's  eye, 
By  faith  in  what  the  feelings  say  ? 


There's  more  wisdom  in  the  kiss  of  love 
Than  e'er  oped  to  sage  or  sibyl  key : 
In  thrush's  trill  and  coo  of  dove 
Lies  meaning  deeper  than  the  sea. 


A  man,  a  maid,  a  garden  eld  — 
Rose-scented  zephyrs  sighing  low : 
Well  knew  I  why  her  bosom  swell 'd  — 
Why  shone  her  eyes  and  thrilled  me  so. 


DEDICATION.  13 

A  rose,  a  song,  a  maiden's  eye, 
A  lover's  kiss,  a  glass  of  wine, 
A  summer's  eve,  a  starry  sky ; 
A  single  soul  was  hers  and  mine. 

A  song,  a  rose  in  golden  hair, 
The  twilight  and  the  harvest  moon, 
A  scent  of  flowers  on  the  air, 
The  heaven  of  love's  highest  noon. 

A  man,  a  maid,  a  lullaby 
Of  drowsy  swallows  nesting  near, 
A  whispered  word,  a  gentle  sigh, 
A  timid  look  of  love's  sweet  fear. 

A  clasp  of  hands,  a  touch  of  lips : 
Two  souls  rushed  into  Paradise. 
What  reckoned  they  of  Furies'  whips, — 
Of  iron  Fate's  exacting  price? 

Love  hurled  two  lives  through  Heaven's  bliss  — 

Twain  spirits  welded  into  one  ; 

While  mystery  of  the  magic  kiss 

Did  rapturous  through  their  beings  run. 


A  man,  a  maid,  a  vesper  song,  — 
The  cup  of  Time  holds  Lethe's  ale : 
Drink  deep,  who  may,  forget  the  wrong, 
Kill  memory  of  the  bliss  and  bale. 


14 


STUBS    OF   TIME. 


A  solemn  dirge,  a  dolorous  knell, 

A  cross  of  roses  fair  and  white, 

Some  lilies  pale,  some  immortelle ; 

Cold  lips  are  kissed  —  Love's  last  good-night. 

A  somber  eve,  a  silent  tomb, 
A  wind  which  moans  in  monotone, 
Dark  shadows  and  a  sense  of  gloom, 
A  heartache  and  a  man  alone. 

While  the  cedars  sigh  and  moan, 
While  the  night-birds  plaintive  cry, 
In  the  dark  I  go  alone 
To  where  my  Love  does  lie. 

Then  the  low  moon  through  the  trees 
Gleams  and  blinks  as  tearful  eye  ; 
And  falling  on  my  knees, 
I  ask  the  Whence?  and  Why? 


DEDICATION. 


15 


Gray  Sisters  sad,  despondent  three, 
Invoke  oblivion  on  the  backward  view : 
The  Past  is  dead,  so  let  it  be : 
The  Present  calls,  and  bids  us  do. 

Time  opes  again  the  fatal  cask  — 

Pandora's  box  —  and  lets  the  single  inmate  go: 

Hope  fled,  we  turn  unto  our  task 

To  deaden  thought,  forget,  and  lessen  woe. 

Dark  Clotho  spins,  and  Eros  plucks  the  stran 
To  tangle  and  to  knot  it  all  awry : 
Yet  we  believe  —  as  aye  has  every  man  — 
That  all  is  done  beneath  a  master's  eye. 

Of  love  and  "work  is  saved  the  race  ; 
They  give  us  faith,  and  teach  us  bear, 
And  help  us  bravely  smile  and  face 
The  undercurrents  of  despair. 


The  years  pass  on,  and  we  grow  blind ; 
The  narrow  world  is  more ;  the  beaten  ways 
We  tread,  and  seldom  see  behind 
The  vanished  visions  of  the  early  days.^ 


16  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

So  they  of  years  will  bow  the  knee 
At  memory's  shrine,  and  offer  up 
The  dregs  of  life  to  Verdandi  — 
Faint  tang  of  youth  still  in  the  cup. 

While  they  of  days,  with  heart  of  hope, 
Stretch  arms  out  to  seductive  Skuld :  — 
Full  sanguine  youth !  —  while  sages  grope 
They  conquer  Fate  by  playing  fool. 

And  they  of  years  not  old  but  ripe 
To  Ulder  give  their  time  and  praise, 
And  bearing  brave  her  frequent  stripe, 
Repeat  by  rote  her  prosy  lays. 


The  clock  ticks  loud,  the  lamp  burns  dim, 
The  embers  glow  'mid  the  dark  smoke's  curl, 
The  wild  wind  wails  a  weird  hymn 
While  midnight  broods  o'er  a  sleeping  world. 

The  curtains  shake,  the  casements  dance, 
And  a  lone  man  lists  to  the  solemn  note  — 
The  deep  dull  ghostly  dissonance 
Of  night- winds  in  the  chimney's  throat. 


I  go  to  the  grave  of  my  dear  dead  Love ; 
I  open  the  urn  where  the  ashes  lie  — 
Ashes  of  memory  cold  and  gray  — 
Ashes  of  roses  sadly  sweet : 


DEDICATION.  17 

And  lo!  there,  too,  in  the  urn  I  ope 

Lies  the  corse  of  a  bright  and  youthful  Hope  — 

Young  Hope  that  e'er  had  conquered  rue, 

When  I  buried  my  Love  I  buried  it  too : 

I  buried  them  both,  but  She  never  knew. 

Then  as  I  dream  and  ponder  there, 

Torn  in  a  fierce  psychomachy, 

There  seemed  to  come  a  phantom  fair, 

Wondrous,  shimmering,  vaguely  bright, 

With  golden  mist  of  radiant  hair ; 

With  augel  face  of  love  and  light: 

And  spake  it  thus,  I  thought,  to  me :  — 

L'ENVOI. 

"  Do  not  despair  because  thou  canst  not  see  the  way  — 

All  Heaven  and  Earth  lies  in  a  mightier  hand : 

Do  thy  appointed  task  :  be  brave  ;   be  true ; 

The  good  will  last,  the  wrong  is  but  to-day : 

The  time  will  come  when  all  shall  understand, 

And  know  the  measure  of  the  work  they  do. 

Do  not  despair  because  the  load  is  much  too  great 
For  thy  poor  shoulders,  and  thy  heart  is  sore ; 
While  wails  the  voice  of  travailed  souls  in  vain, 
And  life  seems  but  a  dark  and  grim  estate. 
Be  kind,  and  love,  and  God  will  keep  the  score, 
And  balance  up  all  work  and  woe  and  pain. 
2 


18  STUBS    OF   TIME. 

Do  not  despair  because  unknown  the  will  of  Fate  — 
No  man  is  great  through  what  he  knows ;  for  all 
The  wisdom  of  the  sages  and  the  world's  accreted  lore 
Is  but  a  jot.     Through  what  he  is  and  does  a  man  is 

great. 

Take  thou  life's  lessons,  and  drink  its  lees  of  gall, 
Learning  that  brain   though  mighty,  yet  the  heart  is 

more. 

Do  not  despair  because  thou  loved  but  to  be  left  for- 
lorn: 

God's  laws  are  wise  ;  let  sorrow  be  a  touch 
Of  His  kind  hand,  shaping  the  stubborn  mould 
To  higher  value  and  a  fairer  form. 
And  Midas-fingered  pain  —  let  it  be  such 
As  striking  thee  shalt  turn  thy  earth  to  gold." 


FRIAR   SNIOKE. 


THE    SEAL    OF    DE    BUKLEYVILLE.  19 

THE  SEAL  OF  DE  BURLEYVILLE. 

A    TALE    OF    OLD    ENGLAND. 

CHAPTER     I. 

"  My  masters  all,  this  is  St.  Thomas'-day, 
And  Christmas  now  can't  be  far  off,  you'll  say. 
And  when  you  to  the  Ward-motes  do  repair, 
I  hope  such  good  men  will  be  chosen  there, 
As  constables  for  the  ensuing  year, 
As  will  not  grudge  the  watchmen  good  strong  beer." 

The  Baron  de  Burleyville  frowned,  and  fingered  the 
pommel  of  his  sword  pettishly : 

"  I  took  thee  for  a  broad  man,  Friar,"  he  said. 

"  Ay,  my  Lord,"  quoth  Friar  Snicke,  "  and  so  I  be  — 
too  broad,  I  fear,  both  in  body  and  mind  for  the  straight 
and  narrow  cut  of  my  cloth." 

"The  more  reason,"  continued  the  Baron,  "that  the 
twenty  pounds  —  the  perquisite  of  the  honorable  office  of 
Lord  of  Misrule,  Master  of  Merry  Disports  and  Abbot  of 
Unreason  —  should  not  come  amiss  to  you.  I  have  noted 
that  thy  paunch  doth  batten  more  speedily  than  thy  purse, 
and  its  rotund  proportions  do  now  collude  against  the  safety 
of  thy  gown.  'Tis  time  thou  didst  buy  more  ells  of 
Leicester  grey,  and  garb  thyself  anew,  giving  due  allowance 
for  thy  future  fat  expansiveness.  In  fact,  I'm  sure  that 
with  so  brave  a  knight  of  the  tankard  and  table  as  thou  art, 


20  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

the  lavish  boards  of  this  Christmas  season  will  make  such 
steps  a  clamorous  need.  Do  you  know  that  I  have  ordained 
and  ordered  so  big  a  hackin  for  the  Holy  Day  that  'twill 
take  two  cooks  to  heave  it  into  the  oven :  so  have  I  com- 
manded them  to  be  astir  long  ere  the  first  cock  crows,  and 
have  it  on  the  fire,  under  penalty  of  a  skimmington  ride 
through  Harbledown  market  place,  as  lazy  trollops.  Also 
Mistress  Mince  Pie,  Dolly  Dumpling,  and  Dame  Plum 
Porridge  will  be  more  buxom  than  ever,  and  until  Plough 
Monday  will  dispense  a  jocund  reign,  compauied  with  all 
their  usual  retinue  of  doughty  viands.  There  shall  be 
floods  of  lamb's  wool,  torrents  of  furmety,  mountains  of 
brawn,  seas  of  sack  and  stout,  cataracts  of  malmsey,  and 
fountains  of  ale.  The  vintners  of  Gascony  and  Burgundy 
shall  loose  their  stop-cocks  at  the  will  of  my  cellarer ;  there 
shall  be  boars'  heads  and  pavos  —  " 

"  Enow,  my  Lord,  enow!  "  interrupted  the  Friar,  as  he 
compressed  his  lips  with  an  expression  of  pain  and  worry 
totally  inconsistent  with  the  jovial  trio  of  contiguous 
chins;  — "  thou  wouldst  tempt  me  beyond  my  strength. 
Consider  my  vocation,  and  speak  of  the  beauties  of  fasting 
and  abstinence,  sanctity  of  hunger  and  self-denial,  loveli- 
ness of  bread  and  water,  and  how  the  spirit  grows  fat  and 
strong  on  them,  and  more  able  to  combat  the  Prince  of 
Darkness.  Discourse  of  spiritual  foods,  my  Lord, — of 
scriptural  texts  and  proverbs,  psalms,  liturgies,  and  prayers 
that  nourish  and  expand  the  godly  part  of  a  man.  Tell  me 
of  hungry  caverns,  rather  than  well-stored  larders,  sterile 
wind-swept  moors,  instead  of  tables  which  groan  under 
steaming  dishes.  Thou  knowest  I  am  a  weak  man.  'Tis 


THE    SEAL    OF    DE    BURLEYVILLE.  21 

said  the  devil  does  love  a  too  full  stomach,  and  often  lurks 
around  the  dishes  of  a  holy  feast  and  entereth  the  heart  of 
many  a  godly  man  by  way  of  the  gullet.  I  have  opined 
that  in  the  jousts  with  Satan  a  man's  stomach  is  the  most 
vital  point,  and  in  there  his  poison  shafts  are  most  like  to 
find  lodgement  and  start  cankerous  wounds  which  in  time 
worketh  corruption  to  the  entire  corporation.  So  I  would 
fortify  my  dietary  with  wise  and  sacred  maxims  ;  I  would 
armor  my  digestion  with  pious  conceptions,  and  be  a  spirit- 
ual Apicus  —  a  sufferer  from  edacity  of  soul  feasts.  I 
would  so  fill  my  mouth  with  sanctitude  that  no  intemper- 
ance or  gross  gluttony  could  find  passage  therein." 

"  Thou  art  a  good  sermoner,  Friar;  but  I  tell  thee,  man, 
that  this  season  my  sirloins  will  be  fatter  and  more  savory 
than  ever  before.  For  five  months  past  have  my  geese  and 
ducks  been  dieted  on  oats,  chestnuts,  and  parings  of  apple, 
and  the  flavor  of  their  flesh  will  —  ' ' 

"  I  pr'ythee  stop,  my  Lord,"  groaned  the  Friar:  "  thou 
knowest  I  do  much  incline  me  to  a  weakness  for  duck. 
Lord  be  with  me ! ' ' 

" — Furthermore,  Friar,  I  have  ordered  a  new  and  big- 
ger wassail  bowl  from  the  potter  at  London  —  of  twelve 
pottles  capacity  —  twelve  measures  of  excellent  hippocras, 
ale  or  French  wine,  and  —  " 

' '  Lord  have  mercy !  ' ' 

"  —  And  I  have  ordained,  designed,  and  ordered  that  the 
wassail  shall  be  richer  and  more  spicy  —  I  will  concoct  it 
myself,  and  mix  it  with  a  sprig  of  blessed  rosemary.  It 
shall  have  more  generous  apportionments  of  toast  and 
nutmeg,  crabs  — " 


22  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

' '  Sancta  Maria  mater  Dei  !  ' ' 

"  —  Crabs  and  rosy-cheeked  pippins  shall  bob  on  its 
surface,  nodding  health  and  hilarity  to  all:  ginger  and 
cloves  — " 

"  Ohe!  jam  satis.    Nunc  dimittis!  " 

—  "Shall be  in  bountiful  portions.  Venison,  custards,  and 
capons,  snipes,  woodcocks,  and  quail  will  be  attendant  on 
my  table.  Fourscore  boars  have  I  bandaged  for  to  make 
brawn.  My  pipkins  shall  be  in  sore  travail  with  the  weight 
of  many  puddings." 

The  Baron  stopped  and  looked  at  his  companion.  The 
Friar  sighed.  Perplexity  and  anguish  had  secured  a  diffi- 
cult footing  on  the  sleek  and  rounded  contours  of  his  face, 
and  now  brooded  there,  evidently  out  of  place,  and  looking 
incongruous  with  the  twinkling  eyes  and  the  ineffaceable 
lines  of  merriment.  He  clasped  his  hands  solemnly,  and 
gazed  mournfully  at  the  logs  burning  in  the  great  fireplace. 
Two  big  beads  of  perspiration—-  one  on  each  brow, — 
brought  forth  partly  by  the  heat  of  the  fire  and  partly  by 
the  mental  strain,  coursed  slowly  down  his  florid  cheeks. 

"Yet,  that  is  not  all,"  continued  the  Baron,  driving  home 
his  wedge  ;  "I  would  likewise  mention  incidentally  that  I 
have  engaged  for  the  high-days  the  talents  and  the  services  of 
two  Castilian  dancers,  who  will  coach  it  from  London  and 
be  with  us  by  Christmas  Eve.  I  wot  these  damsels  will  frisk 
it  with  a  lively  step  and  give  us  much  rare  entertainment 
with  their  gavottes,  rigadoons,  and  blithesome  galopades. 
I  did  see  them  gambol  and  whirl  a  morris  inDrury  Lane,  all 
bedight  with  bells  and  gay  Indian  scarfs.  Most  round  were 
their  bosoms,  and  red  their  smiling  lips.  Their  eyes  flashed 


THE    SEAL    OF    DE    BURLEYVILLE.  23 

and  sparkled  like  old  wine  i'  the  sunlight.  Their  kirtles 
came  midway  'tween  their  hips  and  knees,  as  though  they 
fain  would  not  further  hide  what  God  had  made  so  beautiful." 

The  Baron  paused  to  see  how  told  his  words. 

Several  successive  beads  of  sweat  chased  each  other  down 
the  Friar's  rubicund  face  in  the  course  marked  by  the  first. 
He  sighed  again  more  deeply ;  his  lips  moved  as  though  in 
prayer,  and  he  fingered  the  beads  of  his  rosary.  The 
mirth-rucks  about  his  eyes  and  mouth  tightened  and 
straightened  themselves  into  lines  of  pain. 

The  Baron  went  on :  —  "So  have  I  commanded  that 
there  be  no  dearth  of  mistletoe  in  all  my  halls  and  cham- 
bers. In  this  season  of  good  will  let  us  all  have  young 
hearts,  and  give  rein  to  wanton  folly.  During  the  inter- 
vals of  our  high  and  low  masses,  our  complins,  vespers 
and  magnificats  we  shall  offer  up  hymns  and  orisons  to 
Erycina  and  her  little  son,  to  Momus,  Bacchus,  and 
Fornax.  Those  dancers  are  most  roguish  wenches,  and 
even  the  thin  blood  of  an  old  man  could  well  run  warm 
and  quick  at  sight  of  them,  and  make  one  crave  the  license 
of  the  sacred  mistle.  I  took  thee  for  a  man  of  red  blood, 
Friar,  —  a  man  of  such  generous  righteousness  that  thou 
couldst  temper  and  harmonize  the  cold  ichor  of  piety  with 
the  good  red  fluid  of  human  veins,  without  affront  to 
either.  I  held  thee  to  be  a  man  of  such  large  charity  and 
benevolence  that  thou  couldst  hob-nob  cheek-and-jowl  with 
the  devil,  and  yet  keep  thy  peace  with  Heaven." 

"  My  Lord,"  replied  the  mendicant,  "  consider  my 
cloth  —  bear  in  mind  my  holy  profession,  think  on  my 
vows,  and  urge  not  the  point." 


24  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

"  And  so  do  I,  most  worthy  man  of  God,  nor  see  I  any- 
thing in  the  office  of  Lord  of  Misrule  that  comports  not  with 
sincere  religion  and  a  devout  heart.  Hence,  knowing  thee 
to  be  a  most  capable  man,  and  one  who  can  spring  a  quip, 
turn  a  jest,  trill  a  canzonet,  or  even  shed  a  tear,  if  need 
be  —  whichsoever  the  occasion  calls  for  —  I  have  asked  thee 
to  take  charge  of  my  Christmas  ceremonies  and  heartsome 
festivities,  believing  that  no  master,  an  thou  wilt,  could  be 
more  acceptable  to  the  company  or  hold  a  merrier  swaj'. 
What  sayest  thou  ? ' ' 

"  Last  Christmastide,  my  Lord,  rememberest  thou  how  I 
did  eat  and  drink  o'er  much  at  the  tavern  of  the  Blue  Goose 
in  Canterbury?  " 

"  I  did  hear  it  so  rumored,  Friar." 

"  Aye,  I  wot  you  did,  and  the  gossip  went  broadcast  the 
land  as  the  seed  of  the  thistle.  The  tattlers  did  shake 
it  to  the  winds  and  wag  their  heads  in  shocked  sanctimony. 
'  Friar  Snicke,'  they  said,  '  the  pharisee  and  hypocrite  — 
that  reputed  minister  of  Heaven,  did  sing  bawdy  ballads, 
kiss  the  bar -maid,  and  drank  more  ale  than  the  captain  of 
the  Welsh  guards.' 

"  Thus  it  went  on  till  out  of  sheer  mortification  I  took  a 
journey  to  Woldmer  Forest,  built  me  there  a  leaky,  lowly 
hut,  and  abided  therein  forty  days  and  nights,  doing  much 
fasting  and  penance,  and  inflicting  divers  bodily  hurts  on 
myself  to  subjugate  my  carnality.  Such  little  food  as  I 
took  was  roots  and  haw  berries,  my  drink  was  stagnant 
morass  water  teeming  with  bugs  and  frog  spawn  ;  I  breathed 
the  raw,  dank  mists,  slept  on  muggy  stones,  kept  burrs  in 
my  clogs  ;  mine  huke  was  a  goat's  hide  ;  I  was  circumvested 


THE    SEAL    OF    DE    BURLEYVILLE.  25 

in  mud ;  and  all  the  while  I  praised  God  continually,  said 
prayers  and  sang  dulia  and  doxology  without  surcease.  So 
did  I  chasten  my  flesh  till  the  sick  and  needy  sinners  sent 
for  me,  and  I  came  forth  reluctantly,  much  benefited,  how- 
ever, and  with  a  firmer  grasp  on  things  true  and  righteous." 

"  And  was  there  jot  or  tittle  of  truth  in  the  gossip  of  the 
malicious  slanderers  ?  ' ' 

"The  ale  was  good,  my  Lord,  and  my  memory  is  bad. 
You  know  there  is  a  notion  to  the  effect  that  during  Christ- 
mastide  the  devil  and  all  his  imps  are  bound  fast  in  hell, 
and  are  impotent  to  work  or  devise  ill  till  the  holy  time  be 
past.  So  inclining  me  to  this  doctrine,  within  the  hallowed 
days  I  have  always  been  more  merciful  to  my  flesh,  and 
give  it  chance  to  taste  temperately  of  good  worldly  things 
of  this  transitory  estate.  I  have  held  it  safe  to  be  less  dis- 
cretionary and  rigorous  in  the  performance  of  my  holy 
offices.  If  the  Evil  One  be  so  shackled  and  gyved, 
then  can  he  not  pounce  like  a  kite  on  him  who  runs  but  a 
little  space  from  the  path  of  strict  virtue.  When  the  devil 
regains  his  liberty  I  turn  again  to  the  narrow  wynd  of 
rectitude." 

"  Marry,  well  said,  Friar!  "  exclaimed  the  Baron,  some- 
what triumphantly.  "  And  what  matter,  then,  if  thou 
takest  the  office  and  allow  a  long  rein  to  enjoyment?  " 

The  Friar  arose  and  puckered  his  lips.  He  turned  to  the 
oriel  window  and  looked  wistfully  across  the  heath  to  where 
the  Stour  glittered  in  its  distant  valley  like  a  slender  falchion 
of  silver. 

"  I  will  take  it  under  advisement,  my  Lord,"  he  said, 
turning  to  the  Baron.  "  My  conscience  is  not  altogether 


26  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

easy.  The  Scriptures  give  no  authority  for  the  doctrine. 
It  may  not  be  true.  I  will  spend  the  night  in  prayer —  " 

"  Did  I  mention,  Friar,  how  red  the  lips  of  those  dancers 
were?  "  put  in  the  Baron. 

"  Ay,  my  Lord,  and  I  doubt  not  the  devil  is  the  artist 
who  paints  a  maiden's  lips." 

"  And  their  ankles  and  their  calves,  good  Friar  —  did  I 
speak  of  them  ?  ' ' 

"Not  that  I  heard,  my  Lord,  but  there  be  many 
temporal  things  to  which  my  ears  refuse  an  audience.  A 
churchman,  my  Lord,  takes  nor  heed  nor  hearing  of  such 
follies.  He  beholds  men  and  women  only  as  souls  sans 
body  and  sans  sex." 

"  Did  I  tell  thee  further  that  the  damsels  imparted  to 
me  in  confidence  and  secrecy  that  they  did  have  a  lusty 
penchant  for  a  man  of  orders  —  especially  if  he  be  portly 
and  well-fed  —  who  could  give  them  absolution  for  any 
petty  sins  or  malfeasances  which,  through  the  tendency 
thereto  bequeathed  them  by  Mother  Eve,  they  might 
commit?  " 

u  Nay,  nay,  my  Lord,  you  told  me  nothing  of  it,  nor  do 
I  wish  such  idle  talk  of  girls  to  pollute  the  portals  of  mine 
ears,  where  only  solemn  masses,  motets,  and  well-spoken 
words  of  gospel  should  sound  and  reverberate.  Let  thy 
utterances  be  such,  and  I  will  guttle  them  as  eagerly  as 
the  desert  doth  the  dew.  The  seeds  of  sin  do  creep  in 
through  the  ears,  and  in  the  soil  of  the  mind  do  sprout  and 
germinate,  and  blossoming  into  evil  thought,  do  ripen  into 
evil  deed.  I  must  be  gone  —  farewell,  my  liege,  I  —  " 

"  Think  on  my  proposition,  Friar;  and  as  thou  thinkest 


THE    SEAL    OF    DE    BURLEYVILLE.  27 

well,  so  answer  well.  Such  Christmas  as  I  mean  to  have 
will  recompense  thee  for  a  year  of  Lent  in  Woldmer  Forest. 
Think  on't  all  —  damsels,  wassail,  mistletoe,  high-heaped 
platters,  —  and  thou  seneschal  and  suzerain  of  them  all." 

The  Friar  turned  in  the  door;  "  Adieu,  my  Lord,"  he 
said,  making  a  slight  obeisance,  —  "so  far  as  is  consonant 
with  my  sense  of  right  I  will  bear  them  all  in  mind,  and 
return  my  answer  ere  the  falling  of  Christmas  Eve.  Adieu, 
my  Lord." 


28  STUBS    OF   TIME. 


CHAPTER     II. 

"  When  Christmastide  comes  in  like  a  bride, 
With  holly  and  ivy  clad, 

Twelve  days  in  the  year,  much  mirth  and  good  cheer 
In  every  household  is  had." 

The  Baron  de  Burleyville  was  a  stern  man,  brusque, 
bluff,  short  of  word  and  quick  of  deed — a  man  not  to  be 
trifled  with ;  a  terror  to  his  enemies,  and  a  tower  of  strength 
and  joy  to  his  friends. 

War  was  his  recreation :  his  playthings  the  engines  of  war. 
He  wore  armor  most  of  the  time ;  and  never  a  night  did  his 
great  oaken  bed,  or  table  dormant,  as  'twas  called,  know 
his  weight,  but  it  also  knew  the  heaviness  of  his  great  two- 
handed  sword.  He  slept  with  it  in  his  arms,  his  cheek  and 
lips  pressed  against  the  silver,  gold,  and  steel  of  its  cruci- 
form hilt.  "It  is  my  wife  now,"  he  would  say,  —  "  my 
love,  since  Arietta  died." 

And  the  Lady  Arietta  had  been  dead  many  a  year  — 
nearly  eighteen  —  ever  since  the  birth  of  fair-haired  little 
Brilliana,  the  first  and  only  child  of  the  marriage.  The 
Baron  had  seen  her  buried  in  the  God's  acre  of  the  small 
ivy-clad  chapel  next  to  Lanfranc's  Lazar  House.  He  held 
the  puling  girl-baby  in  his  arms  the  while,  and  when  the 
rites  were  over  he  wheeled  around,  one  hand  holding  his 
child, -the  other  carrying  his  sword.  He  spoke  not  a  word, 
shed  not  a  tear.  With  bowed  head  he  marched  back 
toward  his  castle,  followed  by  the  silent  stream  of  his 


THE    SEAL    OF    DE    BURLEYVILLE.  29 

awe-stricken  tenants  and  servitors.  He  paused  a  moment 
at  the  Black  Prince's  well  for  a  drink  of  water,  thence 
crossed  over  to  the  Priory,  where  after  kneeling  before  the 
altar  for  a  moment  in  prayer,  he  arose,  kissed  St.  Thomas's 
shoe,  and  continued  his  homeward  way. 

Arrived  at  the  castle,  the  infant  was  given  into  the  charge 
of  Critch,  a  young  wife  of  the  fief.  "  See  to  it,"  said  the 
Baron,  "  that  she  be  fed  and  in  good  fettle  for  the  seal  and 
baptism  to-morrow.  I  will  take  the  sword  to  Canterbury 
and  have  it  consecrated  and  dipped  in  holy  water,  as  is 
customary  ere  the  christening." 

Ah,  could  that  sword  speak,  what  tales  might  it  not  tell ! 
Could  it  but  write  its  autobiography,  what  a  ring  of  steel  on 
steel  there  would  be  in  the  narrative !  —  what  clash  and 
clamor,  what  cries  of  men  and  dash  of  horse,  mingling  with 
the  blare  of  trumpet,  hiss  of  arrows,  twang  of  crossbows, 
and  sibilant  shriek  of  sling  stones !  Softer  notes,  too,  there 
would  be  in  the  history  —  the  sighs  of  lovelorn  maidens, 
and  the  low,  impassioned  vows  of  strong  warriors,  made 
gentle  as  doves  through  the  potent  spells  of  that  small  wizard 
and  boy-god ;  passionate  strain  of  amorous  songs,  wail  of 
archlute,  trill  of  hautboy,  and  quavering  tones  of  harmon- 
iphon ;  whispered  love-words,  tender  as  the  sough  of  reeds 
in  the  zephyr.  Yes,  it  would  be  a  story  to  make  the  heart 
beat  quick  with  every  passion  known  to  man. 

For  this  sword  had  long  been  an  heirloom  in  an  ancient 
family  whose  archives  bore  testimony  of  many  deeds  of  love 
and  valor.  Tradition  (which  no  one  dared  contradict), 
said  it  was  brought  over  from  Normandy  by  the  Baron's 
forbears,  and  that  it  had  also  been  taken  on  the  crusades 


30  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

by  some  dauntless  champion  of  the  blood ;  that  the  great 
first  Richard  had  wielded  it  before  the  walls  of  Jerusalem 
and  smote  many  a  Saracen  athwart  the  midriff  to  their  great 
discomfort. 

Be  that  as  it  may.  The  verification  of  such  questions 
we  will  leave  to  clerks  and  learned  pundits.  The  fact  is 
that  for  many  generations  the  sword  had  been  a  thing  of 
sacred  and  mystic  import  in  the  family  of  de  Burleyville. 
At  the  end  of  its  handle  was  a  small  knob  or  projection  of 
steel.  Cut  in  alto-relievo  on  the  apex  of  this  knob,  were 
certain  characters  and  figures,  discernible  among  which 
were  a  wreath  and  fylfot.  Gossip  had  it  that  the  legend- 
ary letters  constituted  a  motto,  the  terms  of  which  were 
never  imparted  to  any  save  members  of  the  Burleyville 
house.  So  much  for  conjecture.  It  was  a  matter  of  com- 
mon knowledge  to  all  of  Kent  that  for  ages  it  had  been  the 
immutable  law  and  custom  to  brand  each  member  of  the 
house  with  the  device  on  the  sword.  When  a  child  was 
born  this  ceremony  was  performed  immediately  before  the 
christening ;  and  if  marriage  brought  some  one  into  the 
fold,  scarcely  were  the  nuptial  rites  over  before  the  seal 
must  be  put  upon  the  newcomer,  be  he  male  or  female. 

The  burning  of  this  seal  on  the  left  shoulder  made  one  a 
Burleyville  in  all  faith  and  blood  forever;  and  all  the 
rights,  privileges,  titles,  and  immunities  of  such  an  estate 
became  one's  for  all  time.  Henceforward  he  became  as  one 
with  all  others  who  bore  the  seal.  No  matter  how  great  the 
provocation,  never  could  he  raise  hand  against  them,  never 
break  faith  with  them  ;  but  was  always  bound  by  all  the  holy 


THE    SEAL    OF    DE    BURLEYVILLE.  31 

honor  of  religion  and  knighthood  to  protect,  aid,  and  cherish 
them  regardless  of  consequences  to  himself. 

The  sword  was  borne  and  kept  with  strictest  care  by  the 
senior  representative  of  the  line.  He  also  usually  placed 
the  brand  upon  the  novitiates.  Though  any  one  (and  only 
they)  who  bore  the  brand  could  impart  it.  Should  such  an 
one  through  mistake  or  accident  place  the  emblem  on  shoul- 
der of  paynim,  Ethiop,  or  bitterest  enemy,  yet  would  he  be 
bound  by  all  the  solemn  obligations  conditioned  upon  the 
deed.  The  strange  procedure  had  its  origin  in  hoary  antiq- 
uity when  men  swore  dark  unbreakable  oaths  over  the  bones 
of  their  fathers  and  the  relics  of  the  saints,  and  signed  them 
with  their  blood.  To  violate  such  a  compact  in  letter  or 
spirit  was  eternal  dishonor.  In  the  grim  earnestness  of  the 
times,  these  bonds  held  their  affiants  with  all  the  force  of 
superstition  and  a  high,  but  misguided,  sense  of  honor. 

So  was  it  that  the  sword  and  seal  of  de  Burleyville  stood 
for  many  arcana ;  but  perhaps  the  strangest  of  them  all  was 
the  bitter  feud  and  implacable  enmity  toward  the  House  of 
Guilforth. 

The  Baron  de  Burleyville  and  the  Marquis  Guilforth  were 
near  neighbors,  but  hereditary  enemies.  For  many  genera- 
tions a  deadly  feud  had  existed  between  their  respective  fam- 
ilies. Living  in  their  castellated  strongholds  they  had  long 
carried  on  unrelenting  warfare  against  each  other,  character- 
ized by  deeds  of  rapine,  bloodshed  and  violence  whenever 
opportunity  presented  itself.  This  hostility  was  shared  by 
every  one  of  their  retainers  and  liegemen  down  to  the  hum- 
blest villein  in  his  wattled  hut.  Though  honorable  knights 
in  all  things  else,  in  regard  to  this  rankling  animosity  they 


32  STUBS    OF   TIME. 

would  go  to  any  extreme  to  do  an  injury  to  one  another. 
Treachery,  ambush,  low  cunning  —  snares  —  all  were  in- 
voked and  countenanced. 

As  an  excuse  for  this  insidious  stab-in-the-back  sort  of 
guerrilla  warfare,  which  appeared  so  strange  between  honor- 
able knights  of  the  realm  and  Tertiaries  of  Holy  Church,  it 
was  reputed  that  the  feud  had  risen  in  Normandy  long  ere 
the  Conqueror  came  over,  and  on  Senlac  field,  made  him- 
self master  of  Anglia.  When  de  Burleyville  and  Guilforth 
(so  ran  the  tale)  had  been  rival  claimants  for  some  advow- 
son  or  preferment,  and  a  cowardly  misrepresentative  of  one 
of  the  houses  (no  one  now  knew  which)  had  been  guilty  of 
some  dastardly  breach  of  trust  and  knighthood  in  taking  an 
unfair  advantage.  So  was  the  feud  started,  and  it  had 
subsequently  been  imbibed  with  all  its  rancor  by  every 
succeeding  root,  branch,  and  bud  of  the  two  family  trees. 
The  passage  of  time  but  served  to  infiltrate  it  more 
thoroughly  into  the  blood,  until,  in  later  generations, 
mutual  hate  between  the  houses  became  second  nature. 

Because  of  the  grim  nature  of  that  member  of  the 
de  Burleyville  line  with  which  we  have  to  do,  perhaps  in 
him  the  terrible  strength  of  the  hereditary  hate  had  reached 
its  fullest  comsummation.  While  the  Black  Prince  lived  the 
Baron  had  kept  active  in  the  field,  serving  under  his  stand- 
ard ;  and  many  a  fair  acre  of  France  had  tasted  of  blood 
drawn  forth  by  the  lethal  stroke  of  the  sword  of  de  Burley- 
ville. But  now,  the  Baron,  like  many  others  of  his  class, 
chafed  under  the  peace  policy  of  King  Richard.  Hence,  it 
was  natural  that  in  his  idle  hours  he  should  turn  to  the 
brabble  with  Guilforth  for  amusement,  and  find  time  to  fan 


THE    SEAL    OF    DE    BURLEYVILLE.  33 

the  flame  of  embroilment  till  it  blazed  with  a  white  heat  in 
his  heart. 

In  the  meantime,  however,  Christmas  was  come  —  to- 
morrow was  St.  Thomas'  Day  —  and  animosity  must  be 
buried  for  the  twelve  days  at  least.  Let  the  contents  of  the 
genial  black-jacks,  with  their  silver  rims  and  leathern  sides, 
drown  all  thought  of  accursed  Guilforth.  Even  the  sacred 
sword  would  be  taken  off  and  laid  away  in  the  oaken  hutch 
which  stood  in  the  Baron's  chamber,  and  where  he  kept  his 
court  dress  of  gold-braided  and  bejewelled  pourpoints, 
doublets,  and  hose. 

The  Baron  called  the  Lady  Brilliana  to  him:  "  Daugh- 
ter," he  said,  as  he  sat  before  the  fire  in  his  huge  arm 
chair,  and  slowly  stroked  his  bushy  red  beard,  —  "  ungird 
my  sword  and  lay  it  away  in  the  accustomed  place.  Thou 
knowest  I  like  not  for  the  hands  of  vassals  to  touch  it  lest 
there  be  sore  need  thereof.  The  rising  of  to-morrow's  sun 
means  the  sunset  for  a  time  of  all  ill-will,  black  passions 
and  deeds  of  warfare.  I  have  asked  that  good  palmer, 
Friar  Snicke,  to  be  mine  Abbas  Stultorum  this  year.  As 
thou  knowest,  he  is  a  man  of  most  jovial  port,  and  is  dowered 
with  much  love  of  God,  good  cheer,  and  the  ladies." 

"  A  fitting  man  for  the  place,  certes,  my  honored  Sire; 
and  hath  he  agreed  to  sway  the  sceptre  of  gay  disport  for 
us?" 

"  Not  yet,  my  Heart ;  but  he  doth  weigh  the  matter  in  his 
grave  consideration.  There  were  dubitations  in  his  mind  as 
to  whether  the  acceptance  of  so  temporal  a  throne  would 
comport  graciously  with  his  professions." 

"  I  judge  'tis  the  accusemeuts  of  the  Lollards  which  doth 

3 


34  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

work  in  him,  my  Lord.  That  Wyclif  hath  opened  the  eyes 
of  England,  and  pricked  many  a  calloused  conscience." 

"True,  my  Sweet,  but  I  think  no  fillips  of  conscience 
doth*  perturb  this  Friar  Snicke.  He  juggles  with  good 
and  bad  deeds  so  skilfully  that  I  doubt  not  he  keeps  the 
sabaoth  of  Heaven  and  Hell  a-guessing.  Every  earnest  he 
places  with  Old  Scratch  is  offset  by  deeds  of  kindly  benev- 
olence." 

"  Then  he  hath  no  faith  in  the  Pardoners?  " 

"  Not  he.  He's  Lollard  to  the  extent  that  he  holds  only 
penance  and  toward  acts  will  expiate  sin.  Nor  does  he  put 
overmuch  trust  in  relics,  though  he  carries  in  his  tippet 
what  he  claims  to  be  a  toe-nail  of  St.  Gertrude  and  a  scale 
of  a  fish  caught  by  St.  Peter.  He  purchased  these  in  Rome, 
where  he  went  on  a  pilgrimage  in  his  early  youth  when  the 
Black  Death  was  making  a  charnel  house  of  England.  The 
nail,  he  says,  cost  him  twelve  marks,  and  the  fish-scale  six 
nobles." 

"  A  goodly  price;  and  as  they  came  dear,  so  I  venture 
their  virtues  are  great." 

"  'Tis  thought  so,  my  sweet  wench,  yet  owing  to  a  con- 
fusion of  the  identity  of  the  two  it  is  difficult  to  pass  upon 
and  gage  their  benign  properties.  The  truth  is  that  neither 
the  worthy  Friar  nor  any  other  man  can  say  with  any  degree 
of  certainty  which  is  the  sainted  toe-nail  and  which  is  the 
sacred  fish-scale." 

"  But  do  not  the  respective  charms  and  protections  which 
are  ascribed  to  them  proclaim  which  is  one  and  which  is 
t'other,  my  noble  Sire?" 

"  Not  easily,  my  child.     Relics  of  St.  Gertrude  are  sup- 


THE    SEAL    OP    DE    BURLE YVILLE .  35 

posed  to  guard  against  rats  and  fleas,  while  those  of  St. 
Peter  protect  from  lightning,  distempers  of  the  stomach, 
and  highwaymen.  Now  the  Friar  will  never  permit  these 
holy  treasures  to  leave  his  keeping  that  others  may  have 
opportunity  to  test  their  powers ;  and  as  he,  himself,  is  not 
a  householder,  he  hath  but  little  trouble  with  rats  and  fleas : 
his  frock  is  safeguard  against  highwaymen :  lightning 
bothers  him  no  more  than  it  does  most  men ;  and  as  for 
belly  ailments  — he  hath  the  bowels  of  an  estrich,  which,  I 
warrant,  serve  him  to  more  purpose  than  would  all  the 
relics  in  Christendom." 

As  the  Baron  ceased  speaking  the  clear  tuneful  notes  of 
a  trumpet  sounded  without  the  castle  gates.  There  was  also 
the  clatter  of  hoofs,  the  barking  of  dogs,  and  the  sound  of 
men's  voices,  noisy  and  hilarious. 

It  was  Courtenay,  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  and  his 
gay  hunting  party.  With  him  were  the  Abbot  of  Ayles- 
ford,  the  fat  Prior  of  St.  Martins,  and  a  goodly  crowd  of 
reeves,  bailiffs,  esquires,  and  yeoman  archers  from  neigh- 
boring estates. 

"  Greeting  to  thee,  my  Lord  de  Burleyville,  and  may  all 
the  blessings  of  this  favored  time  be  with  thee,"  said  the 
debonair  Courtenay,  as  the  Baron  came  forth  to  bid  them 
welcome.  Then  added,  "  We  come  to  ask  that  thou  join 
us  in  a  chase  of  the  red  deer.  It  hath  been  brought  to  our 
ears  that  the  dingle  back  of  Herne  Hill  doth  abound  with 
them.  But  a  few  days  since  my  manciple  did  with  his  bow 
and  arrows  kill  a  fallow  pricket  there,  though  he  was  out 
with  no  intent  to  hunt.  Knowing  thy  fondness  for  the 


36  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

chase  we  could  not  pass  thy  gates  without  asking  thee  to 
give  us  the  grace  of  thy  worthy  companionship." 

"By  my  troth!  and  that  I  will,  my  good  Lord  Arch- 
bishop. It  were  well  that  a  haunch  of  venison  be  eaten  to- 
morrow in  honor  of  St.  Thomas.  Yet  I  hope  that  in  fol- 
lowing thee  we  shall  not  be  given  such  an  ensample  as  that 
set  by  the  bold  Edmund,  a  predecessor  of  thine  in  the 
Holy  See,  who  was  such  a  famous  poacher  that  he  had  the 
whole  countryside  a-howling  with  his  ravishments." 

"  Nay,  nay,  my  Lord,  be  not  fearful  as  to  that ;  we  have 
our  charters  giving  us  the  rights  of  venery  throughout 
Kent.  We  have  no  design  of  taking  e'en  a  titlark  in 
violation  of  another's  rights." 

The  Baron  replied,  "It  is  well,  your  Holiness;  "  and 
then  he  ordered  his  hostler  to  bring  forth  his  horse,  which 
had  been  turned  loose  to  nibble  and  exercise  in  a  nearby 
meadow. 

While  the  groom  went  to  catch  and  saddle  the  animal,  the 
hunters,  at  the  behest  of  the  Baron,  dismounted  and  entered 
the  hall  to  quaff  a  jolly  bumper  or  two. 

In  the  party  was  a  tall,  lissome,  dark-eyed,  and  silent 
young  esquire,  who,  while  the  others  were  gathered  around 
the  table  drinking  ale  and  springing  jests,  with  a  pretense  of 
cold  hands,  quietly  betook  himself  to  the  fire  at  the  far  end 
of  the  hall,  where  in  a  chimney-seat  the  Lady  Brilliana  was 
sewing  a  tapestry. 

The  young  man  had  seen  her  at  an  upper  window  before 
leaving  his  horse.  He  had  noted,  even  at  a  distance,  her 
wondrous  suit  of  hair,  her  beauty  and  grace  of  bearing. 
And  he  had  slyly  stuck  his  spur  in  the  off  side  of  his  horse 


THE    SEAL    OF    DE    BURLEYVILLE.  37 

so  that  the  mettlesome  creature  reared  and  plunged,  and 
thus  attracted  the  eye  of  the  maiden  at  the  same  time  that  a 
skilful  pressure  of  his  rider's  knee  brought  him  nearer  to 
the  window,  where  he  suddenly  became  calm. 

The  girl  had  also  noticed  the  gallant  and  noble  appearance 
of  the  handsome  young  esquire,  as  distinguishing  him  from 
the  others,  even  before  the  antics  of  his  steed  made  him  more 
forcibly  conspicuous. 

When  he  had  drawn  rein  under  her  window,  as  maidens 
will,  she  could  but  let  her  eyes  meet  his ;  and,  perchance, 
a  mischievous  little  smile  was  suffered  to  flit  about  her  lips, 
or  twinkle  in  her  eyes. 

So  will  the  tell-tale  eyes  of  young  people  give  their  hearts 
away  and  betray  their  thoughts.  And  Cupid  is  born,  and 
battens  in  the  sly  glances  of  young  eyes. 

Upon  getting  "closer  and  seeing  the  maiden  better,  the 
cavalier's  heart  had  begun  an  unwonted  thumping;  for  he 
observed  that  the  lady's  beauty  increased  as  the  distance 
between  them  diminished.  Thereupon  he  had  regarded  her 
with  an  eye  so  interested  and  intent,  that  she  at  length  be- 
came abashed  and  begruntled,  and  withdrew  to  one  side 
where  he  could  not  see  her,  but  where,  nevertheless,  a 
lucky  chink  in  the  casement  gave  her  a  view  of  him.  Tak- 
ing thus  unfair  advantage,  she  had  seen  the  woebegone  look 
which  overspread  his  face  as  he  lost  sight  of  her,  and  also, 
the  sigh  when  he  turned  his  horse's  head,  rode  from  beneath 
the  window,  and  dismounted  with  the  other  members  of  his 
party. 

When  she  knew  what  was  going  on,  and  that  the  hunting 
party  would  come  into  her  father's  hall  and  take  brief 


38  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

refreshment,  the  Lady  Brilliana  hastily  bethought  herself  of 
her  unfinished  piece  of  tapestry  and  of  how  admirable  a 
place  the  chimney-seat  was  in  which  to  settle  herself  and 
ply  her  needles  and  bodkins. 

And  there  was  she  by  the  time  the  party  had  all  gotten 
in  —  just  as  though  she  had  been  there  all  the  forenoon, 
diligently  working  on  the  brassard  of  Sir  Giles  de  Laval,  a 
scene  from  whose  bloody  life  she  was  depicting  in  the  em- 
broidery; and  there  the  keen  sight  of  the  young  esquire 
spied  her  as  he  passed  into  the  room ;  and,  as  we  have  seen, 
it  was  not  long  before  a  convenient  numbness  of  fingers 
brought  him  to  the  fire  and  near  her. 

He  had  a  good  view  of  her  as  he  stood  there,  shifting  his 
weight  from  one  foot  to  the  other,  though  the  draperies 
which  hung  about  the  fireplace  and  chimney-seat  to  keep  out 
the  draughts  concealed  her  from  the  rest  of  the  company. 

Well  she  saw  him  too  —  to  which  fact  the  false  stitches 
she  made  in  Sir  Giles's  brassard  will  testify  to  this  day. 
Apparently,  however,  she  had  no  thought  beyond  the  next 
movement  of  her  needle,  so  intent  upon  her  work  she  ap- 
peared. 

Who  knows  whether  it  was  purposely  that  she  dropped  her 
bodkin  so  that  it  rolled  to  the  feet  of  the  youth  ?  It  might 
have  been  the  prank  of  wayward  Fate,  who  loves  to  play 
bandy  ball  with  human  destinies.  Or  it  may  have  been  a 
trick  of  Dan  Cupid,  who  brought  it  about  in  furtherance  of 
some  of  his  cunning  plots.  No  one  will  ever  know.  But  the 
bodkin  did  so  fall,  and  the  chivalrous  esquire  heard  its  jingle, 
though  seeing  it  not,  and  at  once  went  down  on  his  knees  to 
search  for  it. 


THE    SEAL    OF    DE    BURLEYVILLE.  39 

"  It  is  behither  thee,"  said  the  maiden,  as  he  awkardly 
grovelled  around,  his  thoughts  so  far  from  the  bodkin  that 
scarce  could  he  have  found  it  had  it  been  thrust  through  his 
nose. 

"  Ay,"  he  said,  finding  it  at  last  when  she  pointed  it  out 
to  him,  "and  I  pray  thee,  pardon  the  sloth  of  one  who  is 
but  little  accustomed  to  seek  and  handle  the  implements  of 
women." 

The  maiden  laughed  —  a  low,  merry  little  laugh  it  was, 
sounding  like  the  sweet  purling  of  a  pebbly  brook. 

"And  now,"  continued  the  youth  —  going  down  on  his 
knees  before  her,  and  holding  tight  to  the  bodkin  —  "  what 
reward  wilt  thou  bestow  upon  the  knight  who  has  recovered 
thy  treasure?" 

"And  what  would  he  have,  Sir?"  she  questioned,  an 
expression  of  sly  mischief  and  blushes  dashing  across  her 
face. 

"  I  would  have,  sweet  Lady  —  I  would  have  leave  to  kiss 
the  fair  hand  into  which  I  deliver  the  prize." 

"Nay,  nay,  thy  guerdon  is  denied.  It  cannot  be: 
'twere  not  meet." 

"  Then  will  I  hold  that  I  have  recovered." 

"  But  my  tapestry,  Sir,  —  it  must  be  done.  The  Gry- 
phon hath  no  tail,  and  Sir  Giles  must  not  be  left  without  his 
dexter  brassard.  'Tis  uuknightly." 

"  Better  that,  fair  Lady,  than  an  honest  man  go  unre- 
warded for  honest  services,  especially  when  the  payment  of 
his  wage  is  but  an  easy  thing  which  will  not  impoverish  the 
giver  but  will  make  rich  and  happy  the  recipient." 

"  Thou  ratest  thy  charge  at  a  false  and  too  high  a  value, 


40  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

Sir.  I  hold  it  not  extortionate,  but  unseemly :  I  never  saw 
thee  before ;  I  know  neither  thy  name  nor  breeding." 

"  Noble  are  my  name  and  birth,  Lady.  Were  it  other- 
wise I  durst  not  ask  the  boon.  Howsoever,  it  were  better 
that  I  do  not  discover  them  to  you." 

"  But  my  bodkin,  Sir!  —  I  must  have  my  bodkin,"  she 
insisted,  with  a  smack  of  petulance,  femininely  flitting  back 
to  the  main  issue. 

With  humble  firmness  he  told  her  that  she  should  have  it 
upon  yielding  to  his  request. 

"  Then  take  it!  "  she  fired, —  "  I  must  have  my  bod- 
kin—  Sir  Giles's  brassard  "  — 

"  Ho-ho,  ho-ho,  what  do  I  see!  —  a  youth  and  maid 
a-loviug,"  interrupted  a  strident  voice  close  upon  them. 

The  young  man  dropped  the  small  white  hand  he  was 
holding  to  his  lips,  and  turned  to  face  the  fat  Prior  of  St. 
Martins,  who  came  staggering  upon  them. 

The  rest  of  the  hunters  had  returned  to  their  horses  and 
ridden  away.  The  Prior  was  left  behind,  as  the  ale  which 
he  drank  in  the  hall,  added  to  that  which  he  had  been 
drinking  all  morning  from  his  private  flagon,  had  made 
him  too  unsteady  to  mount  his  horse  in  safety.  Being 
somewhat  sleepy,  he  had,  therefore,  readily  consented  to 
take  the  advisement  of  the  Archbishop,  and  abide  at  the 
castle  until  his  head  was  cleared  and  his  limbs  more  willing 
to  obey  his  will. 

"  Pardonnez-moi,"  laughed  the  Prior,  his  huge  bulk 
shaking  convulsively  with  maudlin  mirth —  "  I  knew  not  I 
was  breaking  into  a  lovers'  bower.  The  fire  in  the  middle 
of  the  hall  grows  low,  and  I  bethought  me  to  seek  the 


THE    SEAL    OF    DE    BURLEYVILLE.  41 

chimney-bench,  where  I  might  find  more  warmth  and  keep 
company  with  sweet  Morpheus  for  a  time.  But  I  see  that 
Venus  doth  occupy  the  chimney-seat.  She  were  a  better 
companion  than  my  Morpheus,  by  my  faith,  ha-ha!  " 

He  threw  himself  down  by  the  Lady  Brilliana ;  whereupon 
she  recoiled  from  him  as  though  he  were  a  viper. 

"  Pardieu!  Mirabile  dictu!"  continued  the  Prior, 
pointing  at  the  youth,  —  "do  my  eyes  deceive  me?  Is 
this  not  young  Aylwin  Guilforth?  Since  when  was  the 
cuckoo  welcomed  to  the  robin's  nest?  May  I  ask  what 
benignant  rain  hath  quenched  the  fierce  fires  of  hate  that 
whilom  raged  betwixt  the  houses  of  de  Burleyville  and 
Guilforth,  that  the  tender  scions  of  the  two  names  do  ndw 
woo  and  coo  at  each  other  as  very  doves  ?  'Tis  news  in- 
deed. How  and  by  whom  was  it  brought  about?  Me- 
thought  the  ancient  feud  had  so  wrapped  its  deadly 
tentacles  around  the  rival  hearts  that  no  power  of  heaven  or 
earth  could  tear  loose  its  stiffened  coils." 

"  It  hath  not  been  brought  about,  your  Grace,"  replied 
Aylwin,  the  sokr  child  and  son  of  the  Marquis  Guilforth, 
flashing  red  as  he  spoke.  "  It  hath  not  been  brought 
about — what  you  behold  hath  come  about  by  strange 
chances.  The  maiden  knows  me  not.  Nor  did  her  father. 
This  hunting  hood  concealed  in  part  my  features  from  him — 
my  features  which  I  doubt  he  would  have  known  without  it, 
so  seldom  hath  he  seen  me,  and  so  rapidly  doth  a  young 
man  grow  and  change." 

"  And  thou  madest  bold  to  enter  the  lion's  den?  " 

"  Yea.  I  had  to,  or  leave  the  party.  I  was  loath  to  give 
up  the  hunt,  and  not  unwilling  to  be  adventuresome.  So  I 


42  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

came.  Few  of  them  knew  me  save  the  Archbishop  ;  and  he 
I  bound  to  secrecy." 

"So  thou  entered  thy  enemy's  hall  and  took  bread  and 
wine  at  his  board?  " 

"  Not  so,  I  took  none  of  it;  I  quit  the  gathering  and 
came  hither." 

"  To  make  sly  love  to  this  tender,  innocent  young  dove?" 

"Nay,  nay,  it  all  befell  by  the  natural  consequence  of 
mere  accident." 

"  And  the  maiden  knew  thee  not?  " 

"  Not  till  thou  didst  divulge  the  secret." 

The  Prior  sidled  nearer  to  Brilliana,  and  took  her  hand. 

"Let  the  damsel  speak  for  herself :  speaketh  he  the  truth, 
my  pretty?  " 

"So  far  as  I  know,  your  Grace?  " 

The  Prior  continued : 

"  And  this  little  hand  so  soft  and  fair,  dost  thou  not 
know  that  thy  father  would  smite  it  from  its  arm  did  he 
know  that  the  lips  of  a  Guilforth  had  touched  it?  " 

The  girl  made  no  reply ;  but  the  fast  beating  of  her  heart 
did  not  suffice  to  keep  the  rose  tints  in  her  cheeks.  Her 
big  eyes  shot  timorous  glances  about  her,  as  though  she 
contemplated  flight.  The  young  esquire  stood  by  nervously 
wiggling  his  foot  and  biting  his  lip. 

"Take  my  advice,  my  youth,"  the  Prior  said  to  him, 
"  and  get  thee  hence  speedily.  If  thy  identity  be  brought 
by  any  mischance  to  the  Baron's  men-at-arms  thy  life  were 
not  worth  a  farthing.  Also,  since  knowing  thee,  this  child 
is  much  affrighted." 

"  I  would  not  have  it  so ;  I  will   haste  away,"  Aylwin 


THE    SEAL    OF    DE    BURLEYVILLE.  43 

said.  "  Farewell,  sweet  maid,  farewell,  good  Prior.  When 
a  lion  has  lost  his  sheep's  skin  he  must  leave  the  company 
of  the  lambs." 

As  he  left  young  Guilforth  took  a  last  look  at  Brilliana ; 
but  she  turned  her  head  and  ignored  him.  Then  she  sat 
still  and  gazed  into  the  fire,  and  Aylwin  went  out,  mounted 
his  horse,  and  galloped  away. 

A  hoarse  snort  at  her  side  roused  the  Lady  Brilliana  from 
her  reverie.  Looking  around  she  saw  that  the  Prior  had 
fallen  asleep,  with  his  head  thrown  back  against  the  stone 
chimney  facing,  and  his  mouth  wide  open.  Whereupon  she 
shook  the  sleeper  till  he  started  up  with  some  semblance  of 
consciousness. 

"Good  Father,"  she  said,  still  shaking  him,  "  promise 
me  to  say  nothing  to  my  sire  of  how  thou  didst  find  a  Guil- 
forth under  his  roof.  It  would  enrage  him  so  that  I  know 
not  what  would  come  of  it.  Dost  hear?  Dost  promise ?" 

"Ay,  ay,  I  hear  —  I  promise,"  grumbled  the  sleepy  Prior. 

'•  And  thou  understandeth  me,  and  wilt  remember?  "  — 
shaking  him  again  and  harder. 

The  Prior  grew  peevish:  "  Yea,  by  Heaven!  yea,  girl," 
he  snapped  ;  "  but  get  thee  away  and  disturb  me  no  more, 
or  by  the  hearts  of  the  Nine  Worthies  I  will  let  it  out  though 
it  be  with  my  last  breath." 


44  STUBS    OF    TIME. 


CHAPTER     III. 

f(  A  Country  Lasse,  browne  as  a  berry, 
Blith  of  blee,  in  heart  as  merry, 
Cheeks  well  fed,  and  sides  well  larded, 
Every  bone  with  fat  flesh  guarded, 
Meeting  merry  Kemp  by  chaunce, 
Was  Marrian  in  his  Morrice  daunce. 
Her  stump  legs  with  bels  were  garnisht; 
Her  browne  browes  with  sweating  varnisht: 
Her  browne  hips,  when  she  was  lag 
To  win  her  ground,  went  swig  a  swag; 
Which  to  see  all  that  came  after 
Were  replete  with  mirthf  ull  laughter. 
Yet  she  thumpt  it  on  her  way 
With  a  sportly  hey  de  gay : 
At  a  mile  her  daunce  she  ended, 
Kindly  paid  and  well  commended." 

—  Kemp's  Nine  Days  Wonder. 

So  it  fell  that  the  following  day  was  that  of  St.  Thomas, 
being  in  the  latter  part  of  the  reign  of  the  good  —  yet 
weak  —  Second  Richard. 

And  rosy  and  rimy  did  it  dawn,  its  first  peep  of  light 
awakening  to  querulous  activity  the  drowsy  jackdaws  that 
roosted  in  the  great  yews  just  outside  of  the  de  Burleyville 
garden  croft.  The  lazy  sun  seemed  to  be  yawning  and 
stretching  himself  as  he  slowly  rose  from  his  bed  behind  the 
distant  Kentish  hills,  and  shot  a  few  golden-red,  weak  rays, 
blinking  as  a  new-born  babe,  upon  the  frosty  top  of  the  old 
Dane  John  Hill,  which  stands  sentinel-like  in  the  field  near 


THE    SEAL    OF    DE    BURLEYVILLE.  45 

Canterbury.  Unaffected  by  the  slight  warmth,  the  frost 
sparkled  and  glimmered  as  powdered  crystal. 

In  a  little  while  the  sun  grew  more  energetic,  and  climbed 
higher.  A  great  beam  of  light  was  thrown  dancing  over 
the  topmost  twigs  of  the  big  oaks  in  the  Cathedral  cloister. 
There  it  glistened  for  a  brief  space,  and  then  hastened  to  a 
more  glorious  destiny.  It  shimmered  over  the  trees  and 
ricochetted  to  the  resplendent  windows  of  the  Cathedral, 
illuminating  them  with  a  responsive  blaze  of  beauty. 

Then  the  bells  pealed  forth  —  the  great  mellow  Cathedral 
bells  —  summoning  the  monks  to  matins  and  prime. 
Strongly,  clearly,  the  notes  went  out,  rolling  rhythmically 
through  the  cold  air.  Sweetly,  softly,  they  returned  from 
the  hills  in  echoes  tender  and  quavering. 

The  monks  came  from  their  dormitories  in  double  file  —  a 
long,  silent,  somber  line,  which  enters  the  church  at  the  south 
door,  passes  up  the  nave,  and,  reaching  the  choir,  spreads 
itself  out  fan-shape.  The  mass  for  St.  Thomas  is  held,  a 
long,  long  service  with  much  singing  and  prayer.  During 
the  singing  four  monks  are  appointed  by  the  abbot  to  pump 
the  organ.  It  is  a  post  much  coveted  on  winter  mornings, 
as  it  is  better  to  exercise  than  to  sing  when  the  nipping 
morning  air,  innocent  of  all  heat,  pierces  one's  worsted 
frock. 

A  squat,  pursy  figure  had  emerged  from  the  lodge  just  out 
of  the  priory  gate  as  the  joyous  pean  of  the  bells  died  away 
in  a  low  concent  amid  the  Southdown  hills.  The  lodge  was 
that  which  had  been  built  for  the  accommodation  of  pilgrims, 
belated  wayfarers,  and  mendicants,  and  its  late  aforemen- 
tioned occupant  was  Friar  Snicke. 


46  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

Having  passed  the  night  beneath  the  hospitable  little 
roof,  the  Friar  now  came  forth  to  perform  his  morning 
devotions  in  the  Chapel  of  the  Martyrdom  at  the  shrine  of 
a  Becket. 

His  face,  beaming  and  rubicund,  spoke  peace  and  good 
will  to  all  the  world,  after  an  undisturbed  night's  rest  on 
the  fresh,  clean  straw  and  rushes  that  had  constituted  his 
comfortable  and  sweet-scented  bed.  He  was  ever  a  man  of 
most  adaptable  nature.  A  quick  succession  of  extremes 
from  comfort  to  discomfort  never  worried  him  in  the  least. 
From  one  atmosphere  of  surroundings  he  could  pass  to 
another  totally  different,  with  perfect  adjustment  of  spirit, 
conduct  and  equipoise.  From  a  wedding  to  a  funeral  he 
would  go,  and  so  demean  himself  that  he  was  a  joyous  and 
most  welcome  guest  at  one,  and  a  solace  and  help  at  the 
other.  Wherever  he  happened  to  be  he  was  usually  exactly 
what  the  time  and  occasion  called  for.  Throughout  Kent 
he  was  a  well-known  personality.  The  bounds  of  the 
ordinary  limitour  were  not  for  him ;  he  went  and  came 
when  and  where  he  pleased ;  and  no  one  questioned  his 
right.  Whether  it  was  Friar  Snicke  in  summer-time,  with 
the  beads  of  perspiration  oozing  from  the  creases  in  his  fat 
round  face  and  standing  like  diamonds  on  his  shiny 
tonsured  pate ;  or  Friar  Snicke  in  winter,  with  his  globular 
cheeks  red  with  cold,  and  his  snub  nose  redder  still ;  and 
his  puggy,  stocky  form  enveloped  in  his  long  gown  of 
hand-woven  woollens  —  he  was  always  welcomed  by  prince 
or  pauper. 

Faults  had  the  Friar  —  as  every  other  man,  —  but  they 
were  of  the  human,  forgivable  kind.  He  loved  his  cup 


THE    SEAL    OF   DE    BURLEYVILLE.  47 

and  a  good  dinner ;  and  it  was  whispered  that  he  had  an 
eye  for  fair  damsels  and  buxom  dames,  and  that  he  had 
even  been  known  to  look  askance  at  shapely  bosoms  and 
well-turned  ankles.  Also,  that  despite  his  vocation,  he  was 
not  averse  to  exercising  the  suffrages  of  the  mistletoe  when 
opportunity  came  his  way. 

Yet  what  difference  made  it  to  those  who  knew  him? 
Withal,  he  was  a  kindly  man,  dispensing  to  the  needy  what 
surplus  alms  he  took,  and  ever  ready  to  lend  heart  and 
hand  in  the  doing  of  a  good  deed.  Let  the  captious  ones 
who  chided  him  be  taken  amuck  with  some  dire  distemper, 
and  swift  was  the  messenger  which  these  same  chafers  sent 
for  Friar  Snicke.  At  the  bedside  of  lord  or  serf  he  was 
ever  ready  with  his  soul-simples  of  absolution  and  prayer, 
cheery  words  of  faith  and  hope.  It  was  said  that  he  could 
assoil  with  such  benign  influence  and  power,  that  under  the 
bright  spell  of  his  assurance,  blackest  villains  would  some- 
times smile  on  their  deathbed,  being  convinced  of  salvation. 

A  tale  ran  that  on  a  certain  occasion  the  Friar  was  called 
to  administer  to  the  perturbed  mind  of  the  sick  wife  of  a 
miller.  The  worthy  woman  had  been  sorely  taken  with 
cramps  after  an  unstinted  repast  of  garlics  and  buttermilk. 
If  was  Friday,  the  thirteenth  of  the  month,  following  a 
stormy  night  in  which  a  lone  hound  had  howled  lugubri- 
ously around  her  house.  So  the  good  dame  very  naturally 
thought  that  her  end  was  near  and  certain. 

"  I  once  kissed  a  man  other  than  my  husband,"  she 
moaned  to  the  Friar,  as  he  sat  by  holding  her  hand  sooth- 
ingly, and  barkened  to  the  confessions. 


48  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

"Dreadful!  dreadful!  "  murmured  the  Friar,  his  sym- 
pathetic eyes  resting  on  the  homely  features  of  the  sufferer. 

"  It  was  years  ago,"  she  continued. 

"  Yes,  yes,  go  on  —  mercy  is  plenteous.     There  is  hope." 

"  And  the  man  I  bussed  was  —  " 

"  Who?  "  asked  the  Friar,  a  spasm  of  pain  having  cut 
short  the  patient's  sentence. 

"  You  —  you,  good  Father." 

"  Alack !  it  had  slipped  my  mind.  True,  true  —  'twas  in 
the  days  of  my  wayward  youth  when  I  was  weak  in  prin- 
ciple and  strong  of  stomach." 

' '  And  canst  thou  give  me  shrift  for  it  ?  " 

' '  In  very  surety :  I  forgive  thee.     But  never  do  it  again. ' ' 

Having  passed  through  the  eastern  gate,  the  Friar  entered 
the  nave  or  aula,  thence  crossing  to  the  Chapel  of  the  Mar- 
tyrdom, he  bent  his  knees  to  the  figures  representing  virtue 
and  vice  in  the  mosaic  pavement,  and  there  offered  up  a 
brief  prayer  before  the  resplendent  shrine  of  a  Becket.  Leav- 
ing the  northwest  transept,  he  entered  the  choir,  and  joined 
the  crowd  of  monks,  taking  part  with  them  in  their  services 
and  orisons. 

Sweet  was  the  singing  of  the  Gloria  in  Excelsis  on  that 
winter's  morning  which  ushered  in  a  Christmas  season  of 
the  time  long  agone.  Clear  and  strong  the  voices  of  the 
monks  rose  and  fell  beneath  the  vaulted  and  fretted  dome  of 
the  apse.  Back  from  the  crypts  and  transepts  surged  the 
full,  rich  notes,  as  though  reluctant  to  leave  the  vast  and 
stately  church.  Returning,  they  were  tenderer  and  softer, 
their  wanderings  through  the  storied  aisles  and  among  the 
legended  pillars  having  lent  them,  apparently,  finer  sym- 
pathies and  a  more  delicate  assertiveuess. 


THE    SEAL    OF    DE    BURLE YVILLE .  49 

Echoes  and  old  memories,  like  the  Prodigal  Son,  come 
back  to  us  subdued,  tenderer,  and  sweetened.  Though 
their  initiative  be  harsh  and  trying,  yet  may  they  run  the 
gauntlet  of  circumstance  through  the  circuits  of  time,  and 
return  to  us  some  day  in  the  guise  of  regenerate  and  wel- 
come guests. 

In  Trinity  Chapel  the  spurred,  colored,  and  armored 
figure  of  the  Black  Prince  reposed  on  its  stone  mausoleum 
and  gazed  heavenward  with  its  immutable  expression  of 
masterfulness.  It  was  no  mean  artist  who  had  wrought 
the  effigy.  Perhaps  it  is  the  atmosphere,  the  association  of 
ideas  in  the  beholder,  which  lends  the  figure  so  much 
expression,  so  much  meaning.  Antiquity,  tradition, 
romance,  history  and  war  hover  about  the  tomb  in  almost 
palpable  forms.  There  is  always  a  weird  and  sentimental 
sort  of  interest  enlinked  with  the  graves  of  the  historical 
dead.  In  the  image  of  the  Black  Prince  the  strange  skill 
of  the  sculptor  had  more  than  served  to  heighten  this 
interest.  In  some  indefinable  way  he  had  put  into  the  face 
all  the  solemn  and  austere  majesty  of  death,  and  yet  at  the 
same  time  it  was  alive  with  symbolism.  The  countenance, 
stern,  calm,  and  impassive,  appeared  to  be  that  of  one 
who,  having  removed  to  some  transcendent  plane  of  exist- 
ence, could  now  regard  temporal  affairs  without  concern, 
while  he  brooded  forever  on  the  magnitudes  of  eternity. 

From  the  beam  across  the  pulpitum  the  two  cherubim 
and  the  images  of  St.  Mary  and  St.  John  looked  down. 
Their  attitude  was  that  of  attention,  as  though  they  harked 
to  the  rich  melody.  While  the  misereres  of  the  choir  cornice 

4 


50  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

and  fresco,  stony  and  stolid,  gloated  over  all  with  their  faces 
of  immitigable  woe. 

Having  performed  what  he  deemed  a  sufficiency  of  devo- 
tion, the  Friar  emerged  from  the  Cathedral  at  the  great  door 
in  the  southwest  transept.  Just  beyond  the  threshold  he 
encountered  Bors,  the  Cathedral  watchman,  who  had  de- 
scended by  the  spiral  stair  from  the  tower  of  St.  Anselm, 
and  was  now  on  his  way  to  breakfast.  In  one  hand  he  held 
a  lantern,  and  in  the  other  a  leash  attached  to  the  two  great 
villainous-looking  ban  dogs,  who  with  their  master  shared  the 
task  of  guarding  the  sacred  relics,  treasures  and  remains  of 
the  Cathedral. 

"  Greeting  to  thee,  Bors,"  quoth  the  Friar,  recovering 
from  the  start  which  the  sudden  appearance  of  the  evil 
looking  beasts  had  induced.  "  I  wot  thou  hast  slept  at 
thy  post  —  so  late  thou  comest  forth  to  do  thy  service  to  St. 
Thomas  and  crave  his  blessing  on  thy  tardy  head.  By  the 
holy  St.  Francis  of  Assisi,  what  beasts !  Did  not  their  wag- 
ging tails  belie  their  savage  visages,  I  might  have  sought 
such  flight  as  increasing  years  and  short  fat  legs  admit  of. 
All  is  well,  I  hope?" 

"  Yea,  Father,  from  the  pit  under  the  sacristy  to  the  pin- 
nacle of  the  great  tower — nothing  is  perturbed." 

"  St.  Bartholomew's  arm,  St.  Swinthin's  and  St.  Furseus's 
heads,  and  the  most  sacred  remains  of  the  Saints  Dunstan 
and  Augustine  lie  unmolested,  eh?  " 

"  Certes,  they  so  are  by  God's  grace,  good  Friar." 

"  'Tis  well.  But  the  carbuncle  of  the  generous  Seventh 
Louis  thou  hast  not  yet  spoken  of,  nor  needest  thou  ;  for  I 
myself  did  see  it  but  now  blazing  like  a  comet  in  Becket's 


THE    SEAL    OF    DE    BURLEYVILLE.  51 

shrine.  I  tell  thee  news :  for  aught  thy  laggard  self  know- 
est,  it  may  this  moment  be  gracing  the  chatelaine  of  some 
Bobbin's  Bess,  or  lie  imbedded  in  the  foulest  muck  of  the 
Ouse.  A  pretty  man  to  leave  thy  duty  to  dogs  while  thou 
courtest  slumber." 

"  Nay,  nay,  Father  Snicke,  thou  dost  misjudge  me,  —  I 
slept  not  till  the  third  crowing  of  the  cock,  by  which  time  the 
coming  day  was  faintly  lurid  over  the  eastern  hills." 

The  sleepy  Bors  yawned,  and  raising  the  lantern,  blew  out 
its  still  burning  taper.  Rubbing  his  red  eyes  with  a  big 
rough  finger,  he  passed  on,  followed  by  his  dogs. 

"A  dull,  heavy  fellow,"  thought  the  Friar,  casting  a 
glance  at  the  retreating  figure  of  the  guard,  —  "  yet,  I  war- 
rant, a  dangerous  one  if  aroused."  Then  drawing  his  hood 
closer  about  his  ears,  he  set  off  down  the  road  toward  the 
castle  of  de  Burleyville. 

Arriving  at  the  castle  the  Friar  greeted  the  warder  at  the 
gate,  and  was  suffered  to  pass  on  into  the  courtyard  with- 
out interference  or  question.  He  proceeded  as  one  having 
little  doubt  of  his  destination,  and  another  moment  found 
him  rapping  softly  at  a  little  door  just  within  the  postern 
gate. 

With  much  clutter  of  bolts  and  chains  the  door  opened, 
and  Mother  Critch  advanced  her  portly  person  to  the  thres- 
hold, where  she  took  her  stand,  with  arms  akimbo,  com- 
pletely blocking  all  passage  in  or  out,  while  she  shot  her 
eyes  over  the  Friar's  head,  and  appeared  not  to  see  him  at 
all,  but  gazed  serenely  into  the  morning  sky. 

"  May  St.  Thomas  snatch  the  horn  of  plenty  from  the 
hand  of  Ceres  and  pour  its  bounteous  contents  on  thy 


52  STUBS    OF   TIME. 

comely  head,  my  good  woman,"  said  the  Friar,  as  he 
folded  his  chubby  hands  across  his  umbilicus,  and  bowed 
profoundly. 

There  was  no  response. 

"  Greeting,  greeting,  most  gracious  nymph  of  savory 
pots  and  saucepans ;  may  the  Parcae  spin  thy  life-thread 
all  of  gold ;  may  Venus  envy  thy  beauty,  and  Pallas  thy 
wisdom.  I  wish  thee  all  the  joys  which  the  season  can 
bestow :  — 

1  This  month  drink  you  no  wine  commixt  with  dregs ; 
Eat  capons  and  fat  hens  with  dumpling  legs.'  " 

The  Friar  raised  his  folded  hands  to  his  chest ;  he  tilted  his 
head  to  one  side,  squinted  his  eyes,  and  looked  up  at  the 
dame  with  a  wanton  smile  and  smirk. 

Still  she  ignored  him,  while  with  supreme  complacence 
she  watched  the  movements  of  a  raven  perched  on  a  hop- 
pole  far  out  on  the  heath.  The  appetizing  aroma  of  good 
cookery  was  now  wafted  through  the  door  in  puffs  of  white 
steam.  The  Friar  sniffed  it  and  began  to  prance  with 
impatience. 

"  Marry,  good  wench,"  he  pleaded  in  an  humbler  tone, 
"  'tis  time  thou  didst  come  down  from  thy  high  horse,  and 
see  a  lowly  man  of  God.  The  cold  stings  my  face  like 
hornets,  and,  by  the  Sacgrael,  I  smell  beef  and  baked 
apples !  Alack !  Alack !  thy  conduct  but  proves  the  old 
adage,  '  A  cold  heart  in  a  comely  form.'  ' 

Despite  her  efforts  to  restrain  it,  a  smile  now  tugged  at 
the  corners  of  the  woman's  mouth.  She  let  her  eyes  fall  till 
they  rested  scornfully  on  the  Friar. 


THE    SEAL    OF    DE    BURLEYVILLE.  53 

' '  I  might  have  known  'twas  thee  —  thou  wapper-eyed 
jack-puddings.  I  thought  the  savor  of  my  garlics  and 
collops  would  bring  thee  before  long." 

She  turned  on  her  heel  and  went  back  into  the  room. 
The  Friar  followed  her  quickly,  closing  the  door  as  he  en- 
tered . 

"Ay,  sweet  wench,  in  seeking  thy  company  I  have  the 
sanction  of  both  my  stomach  and  my  heart."  He  drew  a 
stool  up  before  the  fire  and  sprawled  out  comfortably, 
loosened  his  hood  and  held  the  palms  of  his  hands  out  toward 
the  blaze.  "And  my  heart  being  full  of  thee,  I  would  have 
thee  likewise  fill  my  stomach." 

"A  man  of  your  calling  should  have  no  appetite:  you 
should  crave  only  the  food  of  the  spirit,  especially  on  a 
saint's  day.  Yet  in  mercy's  sake  I  will  give  you  for  break- 
fast some  hot  water  and  a  crust  of  bread." 

"And  why  so  chary  of  aliment,  good  dame?  Thinkest 
thou  'tis  Lenten  time?  Or  have  the  king's  purveyors  been 
hitherward?  By  faith!  I'm  no  Cistercian  white  monk  or 
criminous  clerk  who  can  live  on  liturgies:  I'm  a  frater 
minor,  a  true  Franciscan.  Tlr^self  as  fat  as  a  Michaelmas 
goose  —  hast  thou  no  sympathy  for  me,  a  scrawny  man. 
Holiness  does  wizen  a  man  and  make  him  as  thin  as  the  sigh 
of  a  lovelorn  maiden. 

"Now,  gentle  Mother  Critch,  my  vocation  forbids  me 
flattery,  yet  it  tells  me  speak  from  the  heart,  neither  throttle 
truth,  nor  send  it  forth  in  suave  raiment  of  hypocrisy  and 
dissimulation.  Ergo,  sweet  lady,  shall  I  tell  thee  a  pointed 
fact?" 

"  Speak,  man, —  I  care  not  whether  thy  facts  be  as  pointed 


54  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

as  thy  appetite  or  as  dull  as  thy  wit.  These  men  of  God 
have  their  hearts  in  their  belly,  and  would  dine  with  Satan 
an  he  kept  a  good  table." 

The  latter  observation  was  volunteered  as  a  sort  of  par- 
enthetical soliloquy.  There  was  a  short  pause,  and  then 
with  a  lattan  dish  of  cakes  in  her  hand,  she  stopped  before 
him  and  added  condemnatorily :  ' '  Didst  thou-  but  wax  as 
eloquent  for  the  Lord  as  thou  dost  for  thy  belly  the  devil 
would  soon  leave  England." 

"  Ay,  and  go  to  France  where  he  belongs,  and  be  a  pigmy 
among  a  nation  of  greater  devils  than  himself.  It  were  a 
sorry  day  for  Satan ;  and  I  have  more  pity  for  him  than  to 
do't.  For  pity,  good  mother,  is  the  measure  of  a  man's 
spiritual  height  and  stature.  How  many  cubits  of  pity 
doth  he  stand  in  soul?  How  many  pottles  of  pity  doth  his 
heart  contain.  That  is  the  way  I  would  test  a  person's 
godliness.  The  mean-spirited  man  pitieth  nothing ;  but  the 
man  who,  like  myself,  hath  climbed  to  the  Pelion  of  right- 
eousness pitieth  even  the  devil.  So  may  you  know  me  a 
holy  man  by  my  lofty  essence  of  all-embracing  compassion. 
I  pity  myself  that  thou  givest  me  no  ale  or  other  staunch 
purveyance.  I  pity  thee  because  thou  knowest  not  how 
well  it  were  for  thy  salvation  if  thou  gavest  me  such.  Even 
the  ale  I  pity;  for  pity,  'tis  said,  is  chief  ingredient  of  love. 
And  then  to  think,  —  poor  ale !  so  cold  and  lonely  in  its 
rotund  bowl — its  mission  unfulfilled,  fast  locked  in  a 
dim  cupboard  which  smells  of  curds  and  cheese.  Know, 
O  beautiful  but  heartless  woman,  that  ale  hath  a  better 
purpose  and  grander  destiny ;  and  that  good  things  were 


THE    SEAL    OF    DE    BURLEYVILLE.  55 

given  man  and  womankind  for  use  according  to  that  inten- 
tion for  which  they  were  created. 

"  And  what  more  glorious  mission  than  to  course 
through  the  brain  of  a  godly  man  so  that  the  cold  and 
torpid  hymns  and  preachments  that  lie  embedded  in  its 
cells  are  warmed  and  stimulated  into  vocal  activity.  Then 
will  the  world  be  benefited,  when  through  the  mild  and 
beneficent  inspiration  I  am  led  to  preach  and  prophesy 
and  exude  songs  of  praise,  corrective  exprobrations  and 
sage  moralities." 

Mother  Critch  came  now  and  placed  a  large  tray  of 
steaming  dishes  across  his  knees.  "  Here,  here,  man,"  she 
chided,  "  now  stuff  thy  mouth  till  thy  tongue  can  wag  no 
longer.  Thy  talk  is  as  confused  as  a  Lincolnshire  bull- 
running.  Wilt  thou  promise  to  be  silent  if  I  give  thee  thy 
fill?" 

"  Chaste  siren  of  the  scullery,  I  would  promise  thee  any- 
thing. Take  this  as  an  earnest  of  my  taciturnity." 

He  took  a  small  sprig  of  rosemary  from  his  tippet  and 
handed  her.  Then  smiling  radiantly,  he  attacked  his 
victuals. 

Through  the  windows  of  the  Lady  Brilliana's  room  in  the 
high  eastern  tower  the  sun  was  now  shooting  a  bar  of  red 
shimmering  gold.  It  falls  first  upon  the  carved  head  of 
the  bed,  and  then  creeps  slowly  down  till  it  shines  on  the 
hair  of  the  sleeping  maiden.  Lingeringly  and  lovingly  it 
plays  on  the  bright  tresses,  as  though  the  very  fingers  of 
the  sun  god  toyed  with  the  silken  wisps  and  strans.  All 
tousled  in  sleep,  the  locks  stream  about  the  pillow  and 
encircle  the  face  of  the  sleeper  in  an  aureole  glorious  and 


56  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

scintillant.  Down,  down  creeps  the  light  till  it  is  on  the 
lovely  upturned  face,  all  a-flush  with  the  roses  of  healthy 
slumber.  It  reaches  the  mouth  —  the  vermeil  delectable 
pout  of  her  semi-parted  lips.  There  it  appears  to  rest  for  a 
time  as  though  sentient  of  its  good  fortune.  A  lead  in  the 
window  now  parted  the  beam,  and  one  half  of  it  fell  upon 
her  eye  —  the  pink-white  lid  with  its  long  —  very  long  — 
fringe  of  jet. 

The  sleeper  moved  and  stirred  uneasily.  She  threw  the 
silken  coverlet  with  its  heavy  embroidery  of  stiff -figured 
knights  and  ladies  a  little  lower.  She  moved  again  ;  her 
eyes  opened  blue  and  sparkling  as  dewy  bluebells  unfolding 
in  the  morning  sun ;  and  her  arm  bare  and  beauteous 
emerged  from  under  the  covering.  What  an  arm !  How 
rounded  and  shapely !  How  lily-white !  It  flexed  grace- 
fully as  a  swan's  neck  and  fell  above  the  maiden's  head. 

The  girl  lay  idly  thus  for  some  moments,  and  looked 
dreamily  out  of  the  window.  Then  she  arose  and  dressed. 
No  sooner  had  she  completed  her  toilet  than  Mother  Critch 
came  in,  bringing  her  breakfast.  Having  greeted  her 
affectionately,  that  worthy  woman  told  her  of  the  early 
advent  of  the  Friar,  and  further  detailed  garrulously  that 
sundry  sportive  parties  of  guisars  and  mummers  had  already 
come  to  the  castle,  singing  their  songs,  making  much  revelry 
and  begging  gifts  and  favors  according  to  custom. 

Brilliana  walked  to  the  window,  and  threw  it  open. 
"Ay,"  she  said,  "I  see  them  now —  straggling  companies 
of  noisy  youths  and  maids  skipping  about  from  house  to 
house  and  making  lively  disport." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  old  Critch,  peering  over  her  shoulder, 


THE    SEAL    OF    DE    BURLEYVILLE.  57 

"  there  they  go  a-gooding  and  a-corning  with  their  gossip- 
ing pot.  But  for  my  fat  and  stiff  joints  I  would  soon  be 
tripping  it  with  them." 

The  girl  closed  the  window  and  turned  again  to  her  com- 
panion. "  Knowest  thou  that  which  I  should  like  to  do, 
Mother  Critch?  "  she  asked. 

"  Some  mischief,  my  pet ;  judging  from  thine  eye." 

"  So  dub  it,  if  you  will,  but  I  would  like  to  join  the  mum- 
mers, and  for  sweet  fun's  sake  go  a-doling  and  a-singing  to 
the  neighbors'  houses.  I  would  dress  and  bedeck  myself  as 
a  page  so  that  none  would  know  me.  I  would  take  a  gittern 
or  some  such  instrument  of  melody,  and  1  would  sing  love 
ballads  to  the  rustic  maids,  and  tell  them  I  were  a  prince's 
page  from  London,  or  a  southern  troubadour.  What  sayest 
thou  to  it,  good  Critch?  " 

"  It  were  madcap  talk  were  thy  father  to  hear  of  it;  but 
he  is  hunting  to-day." 

"True,  true,  and  that  is  why  'tis  feasible.  Wilt  thou 
help  me  into  my  guise  ? ' ' 

"  That  much  will  I  do  for  curiosity's  sake.  But  I  warn 
thee  that  unless  thou  makest  a  good  page  and  can  enact  well 
a  lad's  part,  thou  shalt  confine  thy  merry  capers  in  the  limits 
of  thy  chamber  walls." 

Saying  this,  the  old  woman  went  out.  In  a  moment  she 
returned  with  a  suit  of  page's  clothes.  In  these  she  speedily 
and  deftly  arrayed  the  Lady  Brilliana.  Had  she  been  a 
witch  and  waved  her  potent  wand  over  the  girl's  head  the 
transformation  could  not  have  been  more  effective.  In  the 
twinkling  of  an  eye  the  beautiful  maiden  was  changed  into 
a  graceful  youth. 


58  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

Mother  Critch  stood  back  and  surveyed  her  handiwork. 
"  Ha,  ha,  my  doughty  brave,"  she  said,  well  pleased,  ''  a  fair 
young  swain  thou  art,  and  every  inch  a  high-bred  page. 
Take  longer  steps :  swing  thy  arms  a  little  more :  bite  thy 
under  lip  as  the  mannish  youths  do  when  ihey  would  appear 
stern  and  masterful :  carry  thy  head  as  a  game  cock :  throw 
out  thy  chest — ah,  that  is  it — mordieu!  No  hindrance 
will  I  put  in  the  way  of  thy  going  forth.  Thou  art  as  good 
a  lad  as  lives  in  merry  England." 

"  And  what  shall  my  name  be,  Mother  Critch?  Christen 
your  new-born  son." 

"  Robin  let  it  be:  'tis  a  fair  name  and  short." 

The  page  tripped  around  the  room  in  ecstasy  of  glee. 
"Ay,  let  it  be  Robin,"  she  answered;  "  and  now  I  must 
begone.  Another  party  of  maskers  has  come.  I  hear 
them  shouting  at  the  gate." 

In  a  few  minutes  she  was  a  member  of  the  rollicking 
crowd  of  guisarts.  They  tarried  at  the  castle  but  a  little 
while,  giving  and  receiving  trifling  gifts  in  token  of  the 
season's  good  will.  Then  singing, 

i(  Rise  up  good  wife,  and  be  no  swier 
To  deal  your  bread  as  long's  you're  here : 
The  time  will  come  when  you'll  be  dead, 
And  neither  want  nor  meal  nor  bread," 

the  merry  party  dances  down  the  road  to  the  sound  of 
drum,  flute  and  oboe.  There  are  youths  and  maidens  from 
the  village,  in  costumes  strange  and  divers.  Masks  they 
wear,  faces  of  spirits  and  demons ;  and  old  Nick  himself  is 
impersonated  by  more  than  one  of  the  gay  company.  Like- 


THE    SEAL    OF    DE    BURLEYVILLE.  59 

wise  there  are  heads  of  sheep  and  goats,  witches'  faces, 
tails,  hoofs,  old  helmets,  pots  and  pans  painted  diabolically, 
smocks,  cote-hardies,  gaberdines  and  bassinets. 

On  they  go  with  many  a  clatter  and  caper  —  a  tnedly 
morris  danced  awry,  and  all  seasoned  with  much  whole- 
some merriment,  pranks  and  laughter.  One  young  swain 
has  his  head  inserted  in  the  half  of  a  pumpkin,  on  the 
yellow  poll  of  which  is  pinned  a  red  horse's  tail  for  hair. 
For  mouth  he  has  a  toothed  slit  with  set  sardonic  grin. 
Some  grey  goose  feathers  and  a  little  treacle  smeared  on 
the  cheeks  made  whiskers  that  would  give  a  barber  the 
falling  sickness. 

Ting-a-ling,  clit-clat,  bang !  —  noisily  they  pursue  their 
riotous  way — some  score  of  them,  —  and  the  fair  Bril- 
liaua  as  frolicsome  as  any  j^eoman  in  the  crowd.  Now  the 
leaders  halt,  and  stop  their  rollicking  song,  and  a  shrill  cry 
of  amusement  and  teasing  goes  cutting  through  the  frosty 
air.  Fat  and  brown  Polly  Tots,  tripping  too  high  a 
measure,  has  stepped  upon  her  petticoat,  and  as  it  came 
down  and  tangled  in  her  feet,  that  wild  youth,  Guy  Botten, 
a  groom  at  the  Priory  stables,  did  seize  it,  and  waive  it 
high  above  his  head,  while  he  snatched  the  mask  from 
blushing  Polly's  face ;  and  when  she  jumped  for  the  gar- 
ment, did  beat  her  back  with  kisses  on  her  snub  nose  and 
chubby  mouth.  After  a  while  he  gives  the  breathless 
maid  her  mask,  but  flouts  the  skirt,  pennant-like  from  a 
bean  pole  which  he  pulled  up  by  the  wayside,  and  impro- 
vised into  flag-staff  service. 

As  they  pass  through  the  little  hamlet  of  Hedgedown,  the 
villagers  come  to  their  doors  and  greet  them  with  smiles  and 


60  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

God-speeds ;  the  younger  revellers  run  to  the  doors  and 
knock,  crying  for  furmety  and  meath.  Cross  old  Dame 
Gobblecot  stands  on  her  threshold  with  arms  akimbo,  and 
looks  with  surly  disapprobation  on  the  merry-makers. 
Rumor  has  her  a  witch ;  owls  have  been  seen  to  alight  on 
her  chimney ;  and  a  big  toad,  fat  and  evil-eyed,  lives  under 
the  stone  of  her  door-step.  On  stormy  evenings  strange 
lights  have  flashed  in  her  windows  and  eerie  moans  and 
wailings  have  been  heard  around  her  demesne. 

"Ho,  Mother  Gobblecot!"  cries  that  dare-devil,  Guy 
Botten  ;  "  season's  greetings  and  good  wishes  to  thee  ;  and 
how  dost  like  my  banner?  Is  it  not  enow  to  give  valor 
to  the  young  men's  hearts?  And  hast  thou  stout,  sack  or 
other  brew  for  us  ?  so  that  we  may  drink  thy  health  and  go 
on  our  way  with  belly  full  of  thy  good  ale  and  heart  full  of 
good  wishes  for  thy  welfare?  " 

"  Pox  on  thy  good  wishes !  — thou  besotted  mesled  muck- 
worm—  a  pail  of  slop-water  have  I,  which  well  mayest  thou 
swill  down  thy  impudent  throat.  Come  but  a  step  nearer, 
and  thou  shalt  have  it  willy-nilly ;  and  if  not  inside  then 
outside,  by  my  troth !  It  would  be  as  honey  to  my  soul  to 
empty  it  on  thy  head  and  see  thy  impish  eyes  blinking  through 
grease  and  brine,  and  all  thy  gay  garnishments  reeking  with 
old  victuals  and  kitchen  liquors." 

"  So  surely  a  spirit  ill  becomes  the  season,  Dame  Gobble- 
cot,"  laughed  the  young  rascal,  sidling  to  a  safer  distance. 
"  A  plague  on  thee  and  thy  house,  and  if  thou  hast  not  the 
ill  will  of  St.  Thomas  for  a  twelve-month,  I'll  burn  tapers  to 
the  devil.  We  wish  thee  good  morrow  and  a  rollicking 
holiday  in  company  with  thy  chummy  ghouls.  And  'twere 


THE    SEAL    OF    DE    BURLEYVILLE.  61 

not  the  time  of  good  will  and  security,  I'd  have  thee 
weighed  against  the  great  Bible  of  Canterbury,  or  tied 
thumbs  criss-cross  to  toes,  and  thrown  into  the  icy  Stour  to 
prove  thou  art  in  league  and  contract  with  the  devil.  I'll 
wager  thou  canst  not  weep  but  three  tears,  and  they  from 
thy  left  eye  ;  and  that  thou  hast  misplaced  teats  plus  two, 
and  of  unnatural  shape,  wherewith  thou  dost  suckle  black 
cats  and  imps,  nurturing  them  to  greater  evil  with  the  vile 
decoctions  of  thy  blood.  A  plague  on  thee,  and  the  Saints 
preserve  us  from  thy  practices.  Virgo  Maria  milii  succurre, 
et  defende  ab  omni  maligno  demonio,  et  ab  omni  maligno 
spiritu." 

Out  of  Hedgedowu  the  festive  masqueraders  danced,  and 
on  toward  Gruilforth  Castle.  The  watcher  at  the  gate  sees 
them  coming  and  blows  his  trumpet  —  two  long  blasts 
and  one  short  —  the  signal  of  welcome  and  friendship.  For 
all  is  now  peace  and  good  will  throughout  broad  England. 
No  stirring  of  enemies  is  feared.  The  sword  will  rust  and 
the  bow  go  unstrung  until  the  joyous  days  are  passed. 
Heart  and  house  will  be  open  ;  the  Lord  of  Misrule  and  the 
spirits  of  genial  beneficence  will  reign  in  the  land. 

The  drawbridge  is  down ,  and  the  revellers  pass  on ; 
"  Hagmena,  Hagmena,  gives  us  cakes,  cheese,  good  farls, 
and  lambs- wool,"  they  cry. 


62  STUBS    OF    TIME. 


CHAPTER     IV. 

"  A  crimson  dye  my  face  orespred, 
I  blusht  for  shame  and  hung  my  head, 
To  find  my  sex  and  story  knowne, 
When  as  I  thought  I  was  alone." 

—  The  Lady  turned  to  Serving-man. 

They  are  received  in  the  big  hall  where  a  party  of  the  Lord 
Guilforth's  retainers  are  already  making  merry.  Young 
Aylwin  is  there,  and  takes  a  part  in  the  sports,  or  with 
a  pleased  countenance  watches  the  others. 

The  hall  is  a  vast  one,  with  a  great  fireplace  at  each  end, 
besides  a  large  iron  brazier  in  the  middle.  Festoons  of 
holly  and  ivy  sweep  in  graceful  arches  from  the  ceiling ; 
while  divers  greenery  and  berries  of  purple  and  scarlet  are 
placed  about  the  room.  The  newcomers  join  readily  in  the 
games.  With  the  joy  of  mischief,  the  Lady  Brilliana  threw 
herself  into  the  merriment,  and  there  is  none  more  lively  than 
she.  Her  clear  singing  and  pretty  dancing  make  her  marked 
among  the  rest. 

Young  Aylwin  sees  the  fair  page,  and  notes  the  smooth- 
ness of  his  cheek,  the  softness  of  his  eye,  the  full  redness  of 
his  mouth,  the  bright  sheen  of  the  ringlets  that  steal  from 
under  his  cap.  Also  the  well-turned  grace  of  his  nether 
limbs. 

"  By  my  faith !  "  thinks  he,  "  here  is  a  comely  lad.  What 
right  has  sex  of  mine  —  be  he  youth  or  no  —  to  cheeks  of 
pink  velvet,  big  dove's  eyes  and  lush  red  lips  which  are  as 


THE    SEAL    OF    DE    BURLEYVILLE.  63 

sorcerers'  spells  to  craze  a  man?  I  can  but  love  so  soft  and 
full  a  mouth,  though  it  were  on  the  Prophet  Jonah.  And 
were  those  eyes  possessed  by  an  asp,  fain  I'd  be  tempted 
(like  she  of  Egypt)  to  clasp  their  owner  to  my  bosom.  So 
fair  a  youth  must  be  a  court  page,  or  some  great  lord's 
young  esquire.  Certes,  he  is  of  noble  blood.  Nature  could 
never  have  wrought  so  fair  a  countenance  out  of  the  coarse 
materials  —  onions,  garlics  and  oaten  cakes — on  which  she 
rears  the  yeomanry  and  villeinage.  The  stock  that  brought 
forth  so  fair  a  bud  must  needs  have  been  nourished  on  rari- 
ties of  vintage  and  gentle,  well-cooked  viands.  Observe 
the  contrast  'twixt  him  and  t'others.  How  generations  of 
rough  ale  and  onions  are  writ  upon  their  brows  ;  how  their 
forms  discourse  not  of  lightsome  lance,  keen  swords,  hawk 
and  hound,  but  of  plow,  sickle,  and  heavy  limbed  oxen ; 
their  eyes  speak  submission,  and  their  gnarled  members  tell 
tales  of  toil ;  while  he,  in  all  his  bearing,  would  seem  to 
manifest  gentry.  In  his  bright  hair  there  shines  the  gold  of 
princely  lineage.  His  eyes  have  a  flash  of  crown  jewels. 
His  form  has  been  moulded  by  the  persuasive  touch  of  rare 
fabrics  from  Eastern  looms  ;  and  the  sweet  pout  of  his  ripe 
red  lips  could  have  been  shaped  and  bestowed  only  by  the 
breast  of  some  high  born  Venus.  I'll  speak  to  him  ;  he  is  a 
stranger  in  these  parts  ;  for  I  can  swear  that  never  have  I 
seen  his  face  before.  Perchance,  he's  down  from  London 
to  spend  the  holidays  with  friends  or  kindred.  Would  I 
could  inducement  give  which  might  cause  him  to  tarry  and 
become  a  member  of  our  household  retinue.  Beauty  I  love, 
and  want  it  'bout  me,  no  matter  in  what  shape  or  form,  the 
hand  of  God  has  writ  it." 


64  STUBS    OF   TIME. 

Aylwin  becks  to  the  fair  page  and  takes  him  aside  while 
the  others  make  merry  with  games,  music  and  a  great  tan- 
kard of  lambs- wool  which  the  steward  has  brought  forth. 
Nor  need  we  say  that  all  this  while  many  sly  glances  had 
the  sweet  page  Robin  taken  towards  Aylwin  ;  and  her  small 
red  heart  had  beat  quicker  than  it  was  wont,  when  she  saw 
that  he  observed  and  marked  her  above  all  others.  Noted 
she  too  (nor  did  it  serve  to  lessen  her  heart  beats)  that  he 
was  the  same  gallant  she  had  seen  on  the  day  of  the  hunt  — 
most  good  to  look  upon ;  that  his  form  was  a  tall  and 
pleasing  harmony  of  well  knit  grace  and  strength ;  that 
his  hair  was  thick  and  brown,  and  made  a  frame  most 
admirable  for  his  clear-cut  face.  First  and  last  noted  she 
his  eyes  —  that  they  shone  wondrously,  and,  when  they 
met  the  glance  of  hers,  she  experienced  something  like  a 
shock  of  strange  feeling  such  as  she  could  not  define,  yet 
was  conscious  of  both  a  fear  and  a  happiness. 

"  Sweet  lad,"  said  Aylwin,  as  the  blushing  page  came 
and  bowed  before  him,  ready  to  hear  his  will,  — "I  have 
observed  thee  and  thy  fair  proportions  and  gentle  graces 
have  ta'en  my  eye.  Points  several  have  I  cognized  which 
would  seem  to  denote  thee  a  stranger  here  and  to  the  major 
portion  of  this  company.  1  did  see  thee  either  stand  aloof 
or  else  with  much  timidity  mingle  in  the  festivities.  Nor 
have  I  seen  thy  face  before,  and  from  thy  bearing  I  should 
judge  that  thou  wert  not  hand  and  glove  with  this  thy  com- 
pany, from  which  thou  rather  differeth.  Now,  I  would 
know  thy  name  —  whence  thou  cometh,  whither  goest,  and 
at  what  manor  art  retained." 

"  My  Lord,"  quoth  Brilliana,  with  heart  fluttering  like  a 


THE    SEAL    OF    DE    BURLEYVILLE.  65 

wounded  snipe,  and  a  color  which  flickered  'twixt  white  and 
red,  —  "  my  Lord,  I  am  a  — a —  page." 

She  had  not  prepared  for  any  such  ordeal  as  this.  With 
all  the  gay  giddiness  of  one  of  her  years  and  sex,  she  had 
dashed  into  the  adventure,  without  foresight  or  provision  for 
any  such  emergency.  Now,  did  this  interview  catch  her 
suddenly  nonplussed  and  alarmed. 

"Egad!  and  I  presume  so,"  said  her  questioner. 
"  Bear  up,  my  lad,  be  not  so  timorous.  Even  a  male  child 
in  swaddling  clothes  should  be  more  true  to  his  sex  than  to 
be  frightened  when  there  is  no  cause  for  fear.  Thy  stature 
proclaims  thee  well  in  thy  double  numbers, —  'tis  time  thou 
knew  what  courage  meant.  So  have  we  here  another  evi- 
dence of  the  bad  consequences  of  these  times  of  peace,  and 
the  mild  and  weakening  amity  of  our  sovereign  Richard ; 
that  boys  such  as  thou  should  grow  up  and  be  so  un- 
accustomed to  scenes  of  danger  and  deeds  of  violence  that 
they  even  tremble  at  a  stranger's  voice,  and  have  the  tender, 
blushing  bearing  of  a  fearsome  girl.  Come,  come,  my  lad, 
'twill  never  do!  Hold  up  thy  head  and  look  me  a  fearless 
eye.  I'm  no  Gorgon  to  devour  thee,  nor  god  to  strike  thee 
dumb.  But  a  short  space  of  time  intervenes  thee  and  a 
man's  full  estate,  and  yet  thou  standest  there  quaking  like 
a  hounded  rabbit.  Come,  let  us  learn  some  more.  A  page 
thou  art?  Very  good.  Now  tell  me  whose  page?  " 

"  A  page  from  London,  my  Lord." 

"  Odso,  and  whose?  " 

"  Of  the  good  Lord  —  Lord  — Lancaster. 

"Ay,  sayest  thou  so;  now  will  I  be  a  lawyer  villainous 
and  question  thee  closely,  for  methinks  I  scent  a  mystery 

5 


66  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

or  a  torted  truth.  I  shall  elicit  the  whole  truth  from  thy 
pretty  lips,  though  I  have  to  drag  it  forth  in  grains  more 
fine  than  miller's  dust.  So  thou  art  my  noble  Lord  Lan- 
caster, his  page,  and  how  long  since?  " 

"  Full  two  years,  sir." 

"  And  when  didst  thou  leave  his  court?  " 

"  Yesternight,  sir." 

' '  And  thou  wast  with  him  till  then  ?  ' ' 

"Yea,  my  Lord,  right  by  his  side,  in  unbroken  attend- 
ance, as  chief  page  and  boy-in-waiting.  I  was  bearer  of  his 
messages,  the  holder  of  his  robes,  and  at  the  table  I  did 
wait  upon  him." 

"  Stay,  I  have  thee  in  a  corner,  my  pretty  lad,  nor  shalt 
thou  elude  me  till  the  truth  which  thou  dost  hold  so  locked 
fast  and  cautiously  is  yielded  up  to  me  in  all  its  chaste  vir- 
ginity. Know  thou,  therefore,  that  I  am  intimate  at  my 
Lord  Lancaster's  house.  Whenever  I  am  in  London  his 
roof  shelters  my  head.  I  call  his  house  my  second  home.  I 
know  each  page  and  servant  of  his  retinue  by  name  as  well, 
indeed,  as  I  do  my  own.  Yet  never  have  I  seen  thy  face 
within  his  portals.  To  be  short,  boy,  I  tell  thee  plainly 
thou  dost  lie.  Thy  tale  was  plausible  enow  for  one  unac- 
quainted with  the  facts  ;  but  in  the  matter  of  thy  audience 
thou  didst  mistake  sadly.  Speak  out  now,  for  I  will  have 
it,  and  fear  not ;  thy  mind  is  too  childish  and  too  innocent 
for  thee  to  work  malefice.  Nor  am  I  offended  at  thy 
prankish  lie.  'Tis  harmless  sport  and  mischief  of  the  sea- 
son, no  doubt.  Surely  thy  face  and  years  bespeak  no  pur- 
pose dark  and  sinister.  Thy  whole  bearing  gives  a  lie  to 


THE    SEAL    OF    DE    BURLEYVILLE.  67 

all  dissimulation.  Now,  my  pretty  boy,  tell  me  who  and 
what  art  thou?  " 

Lord  Aylwin  leaned  over  and  took  the  page's  hand. 

The  Lady  Brilliana  was  now  frightened  beyond  her  wit's 
end.  But  one  idea  possessed  her  mind  —  flight  —  escape. 
She  glanced  into  her  captor's  eye  and  then  shot  another  look 
towards  the  door  at  the  end  of  the  hall.  Like  a  terrified 
hart  she  turned  and  sprang  away,  dashed  through  the 
crowd  of  revelers  and  out  the  door.  Down  the  stone  steps 
she  went  at  a  bound.  The  drawbridge  was  down ;  the  port- 
cullis was  up ;  and  in  a  moment  she  had  gained  the  highway 
on  the  heath. 

Meantime  a  cry  of  "Stop  thief,  catch  him,  chase  him," 
had  been  raised  in  the  castle,  and  the  party  of  merrymakers 
broke  up  in  confusion.  They  all  joined  in  the  chase. 
Many,  being  somewhat  in  their  cups,  fell  by  the  wayside,  or 
staggered  along,  laughing  uproariously  and  shouting,  "  Stop 
thief,"  at  the  top  of  their  voices.  Scarcely  one  knew  just 
what  had  occurred.  Various  versions  were  set  forth.  Some 
said  Lord  Aylwin  had  been  stabbed  and  killed  by  the  page, 
and  now  lay  weltering  in  blood  behind  the  arras  in  the  far 
end  of  the  hall.  Others  had  it  that  their  human  quarry  had 
stolen  the  Guilforth  coronet.  Thus  they  surmised  and 
straggled  on  across  the  lea,  while  the  Lady  Brilliana  on  the 
wings  of  terror  speeded  on  —  so  light-footed,  so  swift  that 
it  was  but  a  little  while  before  a  great  stretch  was  between 
her  and  pursuers. 

The  Lord  Aylwin  after  recovering  from  the  surprise 
which  the  sudden  turn  of  affairs  had  engendered,  crying 
"Catch  him,  stop  him,"  had  brushed  aside  the  jovial 


68  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

rollickers  and  sprung  to  the  front  leading  the  chase.  But  a 
few  paces,  however,  made  it  plain  to  him  that  owing  to  his 
surcoat,  he  stood  no  chance  of  coming  up  with  the  fleet- 
footed  page.  Also  because  of  the  befuddled  and  heedless 
estate  of  the  others,  he  saw  that  the  fugitive  stood  a  most 
excellent  opportunity  of  bidding  them  a  farewell  forever. 
Thereupon  he  turned  and  ran  towards  a  little  hill  which  rose 
on  the  edge  of  Briarvale,  a  short  distance  to  his  left. 
Reaching  the  crest  of  the  hill,  he  placed  his  fingers  to  his 
lips  and  sent  out  a  whistle  long,  shrill  and  piercing. 

In  the  meadow  pasture,  a  quarter  mile  away,  was  a  drove 
of  horses  grazing  and  frisking  around  their  stable.  One  of 
them  raised  his  head  and  pricked  his  ears  as  the  whistle 
came  a-ringing  through  the  cold  air.  He  walked  from  the 
herd  and  stood  on  its  edge,  sniffing  the  air  with  head  high 
as  he  listened  yet  more  intent.  Moslem,  the  Arabian 
stallion,  had  heard  his  master,  and  in  another  moment  was 
speeding  toward  him  swift  as  a  hawk  from  mews. 

The  turf  flew  from  his  feet  as  the  beautiful  charger 
brought  himself  to  a  sudden  standstill  by  his  master's  side. 
Aylwin  leaped  upon  his  back,  gave  him  a  pat  on  the  neck, 
a  slight  knee-pressure  on  the  side.  The  intelligent  creature 
knew  what  was  wanted  and  lighted  out  across  the  lea.  The 
earth  appeared  to  be  racing  under  them ;  the  wind  hissed 
and  sang  shrilly  in  the  rider's  ears.  As  the  shadow  of  a  small 
cloud  glides  across  the  plain,  so  went  Moslem.  Like  an  arrow 
he  shot  by  those  of  the  maudlin  crew  who  still  held  to  the  race. 

Far  down  the  road  was  a  cluster  of  yews  at  a  turning  of 
the  way.  Small  space  elapsed  before  the  rider  wheeled 
around  them,  and  then  he  saw  the  flgure  of  the  runaway, 


THE    SEAL    OF    DE    BURLEYVILLE.  69 

small  and  distant,  still  running  rapidly  down  the  long 
stretch  of  road.  Moslem  was  touched  on  the  flank,  and 
with  a  more  voracious  appetite  he  ate  up  the  ground  inter- 
vening between  pursuer  and  pursued. 

Now  the  fleeing  one  hears  the  rhythmic  clattering  of  the 
hoofs,  and  looks  backward,  white  with  despair  and  fear. 
She  turns  abruptly  to  one  side  and  makes  for  a  thorn  hedge, 
on  the  south  side  of  which  is  a  dense  thicket  of  ilex.  Vain 
hope !  Another  spurt  of  speed  by  the  horse,  and  then  at  a 
word  from  his  master,  he  slackens  his  gait  as  he  comes  up 
within  a  few  yards  of  the  page. 

It  must  be  done  adroitly.  A  few  more  steps  and  the 
fugitive  will  gain  the  hedge  and  perchance  escape.  A  false 
move  of  horse  or  rider  and  the  boy's  life  and  limbs  are 
endangered.  So  thought  Ay  1  win. 

As  gently  as  a  swallow  alighting,  does  the  steed  come  up 
beside  the  runner.  Aylwin  reaches  over  and  catches  the 
fugitive  in  the  collar  of  her  doublet.  Horse,  rider  and  run- 
away are  all  brought  to  a  stop.  But  the  garment  has  torn, 
split  —  down  the  back  and  down  the  breast.  It  is  now 
only  held  by  the  baldrick  and  sleeves.  And  lo,  what  does 
the  young  Lord  Aylwin  see !  —  a  maiden's  bosom  —  two 
twin  snow -balls  capped  with  strawberries — fair,  lovely, 
but  sacred,  and  not  to  be  gazed  upon.  The  panting,  terror- 
stricken  Brilliana,  forgetting  all  else  in  her  maiden  modesty, 
pulls  the  rent  bodice  about  her  breast,  and  crouches  down, 
face  in  hands,  and  bursts  into  tears.  And  there  through 
the  rent  in  the  back  of  her  garb  gleams  her  soft  white 
shoulder  with  its  carmine  brand  —  the  wreath  and  fylfot  — 
the  seal  of  de  Burleyville. 


70  STUBS    OF    TIME. 


CHAPTER     V. 

"  Ten  thousand  times  farewell;  — yet  stay  awhile; — 
Sweet,  kiss  me  once ;  sweet  kisses  time  beguile :  — 
I  have  no  power  to  move.  How  now,  am  I  in  love?  " 

—  Corydori's  Farewell  to  Phillis. 

' '  Heaven  of  mercy !  Alack !  —  What  have  we  here  ? 
What  have  I  done?  "  murmured  the  Lord  Aylwin,  as  he 
stood  and  looked  down  on  the  weeping  maiden.  Pale 
pink  was  such  of  her  cheeks  as  he  could  see ;  snowy  her 
neck.  Her  cap  had  come  off,  releasing  the  great  knot  of 
twisted  gold  which  it  had  held  concealed.  Now  the  long 
locks  streamed  down  about  her  breast  and  shoulders  as 
though  they  were  sentient  of  the  virgin's  shame,  and  sought 
to  help  conceal  what  was  not  to  be  seen. 

"The  daughter  of  de  Burleyville !  "  ejaculated  Aylwin, 
"  and  blood  enemy  to  my  house." 

All  the  reply  he  got  was  the  low  sniffling  of  the  girl. 
Moslem,  questioning,  mild,  inscrutable,  stood  patiently 
regarding  the  twain.  Save  this  trio,  no  other  figures  of 
animate  life  appeared  on  the  landscape.  Great  clouds  hung 
over  the  distant  villa  of  Hedgedown,  and  seemed  to  be  low- 
ering their  dark  heads  to  kiss  the  smoke  rising  from  the 
cottars'  chimneys.  A  solitary  bustard  came  to  the  edge  of 
a  copse  some  hundred  paces  off,  and  jumping  onto  a  log, 
stood  doubtful  and  inquisitive  —  took  in  the  prospect  of 
wintry  desolateness,  and  returned  again  to  his  fastness. 

Now,  as  he  stood  looking  down  upon  the  lone  pitiable  maid, 


UNDER  THE  GREAT  DRUID  THEY  PLIGHTED  THEIR  TROTH. 


THE    SEAL    OF    DE    BURLEYVILLE.  71 

did  a  great  swell  of  soft  tender  feeling  rise  in  the  heart  of 
the  young  knight.  He  kneeled  by  her,  nor  scarce  could  he 
hold  back  from  taking  her  in  his  arms  and  kissing  the  pink 
and  white  tear-damp  little  face.  He  felt  like  some  great 
loving  mother  —  she  was  his  child ;  and  he  was  sorry,  and 
he  knew  not  why  ;  and  he  was  glad,  and  he  knew  not  why  ; 
and  his  heart  felt  all  too  soft  and  melting,  for  a  strong  brave 
knight ;  yet  he  could  not  help  it. 

"  Sweet  Lady,"  he  began,  "  sweet  bud  of  the  hated 
house  of  Burleyville,  I  beseech  thee  stay  thy  tears,  and  fear 
not.  Sworn  by  the  bones  of  my  fathers  and  by  the  Cross 
and  Blood  am  I  to  despise  thy  race  and  work  it  what  mis- 
chief I  can  ;  yet  I  tell  thee,  damsel,  that  first  and  last,  I  am 
a  knight  and  man,  e'en  before  I  was  aught  else.  The 
strongest  oath  that  ever  was  broached  by  God,  man  or 
devil  cannot  stem  or  change  the  course  of  blood  and  nature. 
Who  swears  against  nature  must  needs  perjure  himself. 
The  wrong  is  in  the  taking  of  such  oaths,  not  in  the  break- 
ing of  them.  As  I  am  first  and  last  a  man  and  knight,  so 
as  a  man,  I  love  and  pity  thee,  and  as  a  knight,  give  honor 
and  protection  to  thy  sex." 

He  stopped  speaking,  and  regarded  the  sorrowful  lady, 
who  answered  him  not,  though  he  noted  that  her  sobs  did 
lessen.  So  he  sat  silently  regarding  her,  awaiting  her 
speech,  while  his  heart  grew  more  soft,  and  less  able  be- 
came he  to  restrain  himself  that  he  take  her  not  in  his  arms. 
He  felt  that  of  all  places  in  the  world  was  his  shoulder  the 
most  suited  for  her  head  to  rest  upon,  that  he  might  be 
better  able  to  give  her  comfort  and  soothing.  Still  the  lady 
spoke  not,  and  a  great  quietude  lay  about  them,  saving 


72  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

that  now  and  then  the  hedge  sparrows  chattered  in  the 
nearby  bushes  of  hawthorue ;  and  once  a  golden-crowned 
wren  did  pry  at  them  and  chirrup  impertinently. 

At  length  the  Lord  Aylwin,  being  an  ardent  young  man, 
of  quick  blood  and  impulsive  deed,  held  back  no  longer,  but 
did  perforce  take  the  sorrowing  maiden  bodily  into  his 
arms;  did  kiss  her  hair  and  cheeks,  and,  perchance,  even 
her  lips  (which,  however,  we  do  but  guess  at,  as  the  only 
witness,  the  gallant  Moslem,  has  ever  been  reticent  as  to  this 
point). 

' '  By  the  Holy  Virgin !  ' '  quoth  the  warm  youth  when  he 
betook  his  mouth  to  word  instead  of  deed  ;  "  sweet  Lady,  I 
do  love  thee.  I  prithee  be  comforted.  Cease  thy  tears,  and 
speak  to  me,  and  fear  not  either  for  thy  honor,  thy  freedom , 
or  thy  good  name.  I  call  the  calendar  of  saints  to  witness 
that  I  love  with  a  love  which  would  pluck  out  my  heart  and 
give  it  to  vultures  ere  I'll  work  thee  a  mischief.  I  yield  me 
to  thy  sweet  will,  Lady.  Command,  and  I  do  thy  bidding." 

The  Lady  Brilliana  was  not  averse  to  being  comforted, 
though,  forsooth,  it  were  in  a  manner  most  strange  and  new 
to  her,  she  never  before  having  known  what  solace  to  a 
stricken  maid  there  was  in  the  arm  of  a  brave  youth ;  nor 
that  the  lips  of  such  an  one  could  be  turned  to  methods  of 
comfort  even  more  gracious  than  that  of  gentle  words.  She 
wiped  her  tears,  and  pushed  away  from  Aylwin.  With  the 
quick  intuition  of  her  sex  she,  in  an  instant,  knew  her 
strength,  the  power  of  her  beauty — how  it  could  humble 
the  haughty,  turn  the  stony  heart  into  liquid  honey,  and 
make  the  man  of  steel  but  as  a  column  of  smoke. 

"Nay,  nay,  my  Lord,"  she  said,  a  smile  breaking  over 


THE    SEAL    OF    Dfi    BURLEYVILLE.  73 

her  face,  as  bright  as  sunlight  on  a  dewy  meadow,  —  "  you 
are  o'er  hasty  iii  your  avowals  of  love.  I  cannot  entertain 
them.  But  now  you  thought  me  a  page  —  a  lad;  and  will 
you  talk  of  love  so  soon?  Fie,  my  Lord,  you  do  me  too 
much  honor.  I  am  young  and  know  not  the  ways  of  men, 
but  methought  true  love  a  flower  of  slower  growth.  I  have 
heard  old  women  say  that  very  love  buds  slow  and  reaches 
not  its  stature  in  a  day  or  night.  So  have  they  said  that 
maidens  should  not  heed  the  fervent  words  of  men  profes- 
sing love  ;  that  it  most  of  tens  fortunes  men  are  but  deceivers, 
and  their  pledges  as  breakable  as  cockle  shells,  and  all 
their  swearings  to  faith  as  fragile  as  spiders'  webs." 

Then  replied  the  Lord  Aylwin:  "  Sweet  Lady,  believe  it 
not.  Old  women,  like  old  men,  do  give  advice  most  sage 
and  wholesome  when  the  stale  ashes  of  their  young  hearts 
lie  dead  and  cold.  I  have  noted  that  the  alchemy  of  time 
doth  often  turn  the  hot  waywardness  of  youth  into  the  icy 
moralit3T  of  age.  Faith,  I  have  heard  it  tell  that  such-and- 
such  an  one,  who  now  is  old,  with  rusty  bones  and  creaking 
muscles,  and  so  filled  with  divinity,  healthy  saws,  and  salu- 
brious moralities  that  he  cannot  hear  the  children  laugh 
without  a  frown,  —  I  have  heard  that  such  an  one,  who  now 
wraps  about  his  austere  soul  the  garb  of  spotless  sanctity, 
and  has  no  charity  for  the  festivities  of  the  young,  was  in 
his  youth  a  king  of  carousers,  bawd  and  libertine,  who  had 
more  knack  of  dice,  more  tricks  at  cards,  was  the  greatest 
ale-jack,  owed  more  debts,  and  had  more  science  of  de- 
bauchery than  any  six  Spanish  sailors. 

"  So  should  thou  be  chary  in  giving  belief  to  all  that  the 
wearied  wiseacres  say.  Is  not  the  loving  heart  of  youth  in 


74  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

as  close  touch  and  sure  communion  with  eternal  verity  as 
any  withered  hag  or  dour  weak-limbed  seer?  Nor  would  I 
have  thee  yet  so  gullible  that  thou  would 'st  take  as  gospel, 
and  act  upon  all  which  young  blood  and  Mother  Nature  bids 
thee  to  hearken.  For  it  would  seem  that  Nature  has  planted 
treacheries  in  our  systems  ;  and  in  our  wishes  and  ambitions 
there  are  snares  and  ambuscades  which  we  do  flounder  into 
to  be  striped  and  chastised  ere  we  can  extricate  ourselves 
and  bear  from  their  prickly  fastnesses  the  golden  apple  of 
experience.  Therefore  would  I  have  thee  weigh  and  win- 
now both  the  promptings  of  the  inner  self  and  the  proffered 
wisdom  of  others.  Adjust  thy  life  to  circumstance,  and 
keep  the  balance,  so  it  can  be  thrown  hither  ward  and 
thitherward,  as  the  time  requires." 

"  Thou  speakest  words,  my  Lord,  of  deepest  wisdom  ;  I 
doubt  it  not." 

"  Ay,  I  was  schooled  at  Oxenford  in  the  latter  part  of  the 
last  Edward's  reign  —  peace  to  his  soul  —  till  rife  dissen- 
sion 'twixt  fellows  from  north  and  south  did  rise,  and  then 
with  my  preceptor  —  a  most  learned  man  —  I  took  myself  to 
Stamford,  till  there  the  king's  statute  broke  us  up,  and  we 
hied  back  to  Oxenford.  Between  the  times  my  body  took 
active  part  in  sports  of  field,  I  have  suffered  my  mind  to 
dabble  much  in  philosophy,  logic  and  other  speculative 
studies.  But  I  tell  thee,  maiden,  never  yet  has  there  been 
aught  interested  me  half  so  much  as  thou.  Henceforth  when 
I  incline  me  to  astrology,  thine  eyes  shall  be  my  stars  of  first 
magnitude  in  the  heaven  of  thy  face.  The  angles  of  my 
trines  and  quadrates  shall  lie  between  thy  brows,  cheek  and 
lips.  Should  I  incline  to  logic,  I  fain  would  read  a  syllogism 


THE    SEAL    OF    DE    BURLEYVILLE.  75 

in  thy  face,  having  kisses  for  my  premises,  and  more  kisses 
for  the  conclusion.  For  my  art  and  poetry,  I'll  look  at 
thee  ;  for  my  music  I'll  have  thee  speak  ;  for  theosophy  and 
philosophy,  I'd  have  thee  put  thine  arms  around  my  neck 
and  lay  thy  cheek  'gainst  mine.  I  warrant  that  all  the 
learning  of  Plato  could  not  give  such  spiritual  altitude  as  that. 
What  sayest  thou,  sweet  wench?  " 

"  My  Lord,  you  flatter  me.  The  honey  of  Hymettus  is  on 
thy  tongue.  As  honey-laden  butterflies,  your  sweet  words 
fly  out  and  must  needs  find  a  resting-place  within  my  heart. 
Almost  would  I  believe  you.  Still  I  must  confess  to  doubt 
that  so  great  passion  was  so  shortly  born." 

"Doubt  it  not,  my  chuck.  I  have  a  soul  of  tinder  —  it 
has  long  been  prepared  —  it  has  been  waiting,  knowing  not 
its  own  latent  capabilities.  Now  it  has  come  at  last  —  the 
spark,  the  fire  —  it  shot  from  your  eyes,  and  I  knew  it  at 
once ;  it  fell  among  the  tinder  ;  a  tremor  went  through  my 
being;  and  my  life  —  my  soul,  burst  into  flame.  I  am 
consumed.  There  is  one  thing  that  can  save  me.  It  is 
you  —  your  love.  Then  will  the  burning  prove  a  blessing, 
and  my  soul,  like  the  Phoenix  of  the  myths,  will  arise  from 
the  flames  with  a  new  life  —  more  grand  —  more  glorious,  I 
tell  thee,  maiden,  I  do  love  thee.  Hitherto  my  life  has  been 
as  grass,  dry  and  dead.  Now  hast  thou  cast  the  torch  into 
it.  It  has  been  as  a  seed  which  has  lain  in  cold  and  dark- 
ness, dormant  all  winter.  Now  has  the  quickening  vernal 
sunlight  shown  upon  it,  and  it  springs  up  into  life.  I  pray 
thee,  sweet  damsel,  let  it  put  forth  its  shoots  and  tendrils  ; 
let  it  bourgeon  and  bloom  ;  let  it  bear  fruit.  Do  not  nip  it 
in  the  bud,  nor  permit  the  cold  frost  of  thy  displeasure  to 


76  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

settle  upon  it.     Be  thou  the  gentle  sun,  mild  and  beneficent, 
to  kiss  it  into  fuller  life." 

"But,  my  Lord,  consider,"  said  Brilliana,  now  a  thor- 
oughly composed  mistress  of  the  occasion,  —  "  since  love 
hath  made  thee  mad ,  it  behooves  me  to  call  back  your  mind 
to  things  we  must  not  forget — to  facts  that  shriek  as 
hideous  jackdaws,  and  awaken  us  from  any  pleasant  dreams 
of  romance.  Remember,  my  Lord,  the  enmity  'twixt  our 
houses.  What  can  it  avail  us,  though  a  quotidian  of  love 
do  boil  and  posset  in  our  souls?  Marriage,  sir,  is  out  of 
the  question.  A  union  is  impossible.  In  truth,  did  our 
noble  sires  but  see  us  thus  holding  converse,  sweet  and 
amicable,  our  lives  were  not  worth  a  Robin  Hood's  penny- 
worth. Swift  as  a  hurtling  hawk  would  my  father's 
vengeance  fall.  It  does  set  me  all  a-tremor  to  think  upon 
it.  The  sword  that  seals  each  Burleyville  would  seal  my 
doom.  I  beg  thee  assuage  the  rushing  current  of  thy  love, 
till  these  considerations,  as  carracks,  sail  within  the  harbors 
of  thy  mind,  and  cast  their  anchors." 

"  Dear  Lady,  speak  not  of  such  things  to  me  at  this  time. 
Tell  me,  yea  or  nay,  dost  thou  favor  me?  " 

"  My  Lord,  thou  art  a  youth  so  noble  and  impetuous, 
thou  hast  taken  my  heart  away,  whether  I  would  or  no.  It 
lies  now  in  the  keeping  of  thy  honor.  Guard  it  well,  my 
Lord —  'tis  a  tender  maiden's  heart,  and  in  it  is  the  precious 
treasure  of  a  sweet  first  love.  Gently  hold  it,  my  Lord,  'tis 
thine  as  long  as  thou  art  worthy  and  willing  to  keep  it ;  and 
when  thou  art  not,  'twill  break  into  a  thousand  tittles  and 
be  no  more." 

Here  did  the  old  chronicler  from  whom  we  gleaned  this 


THE    SEAL    OF    DE    BURLEYVILLE.  77 

tale  leave  a  blank  space  in  his  narrative.  When  he  bids  us 
look  again  at  this  pair  of  lovers,  he  says  that  there  is  a 
deeper  color  on  the  lady's  cheeks,  and  that  her  hair  is  more 
tousled,  and  that  a  softer  light  shines  in  her  eyes  and  those 
of  her  companion.  Then  he  goes  on  to  say  that  the  Lord 
Aylwin  stepped  back  and  raised  his  clenched  fists  toward 
the  sky  and  cried:  "  Witness,  ye  heavenly  sabaoth,  I  do 
love  this  girl,  and  dare  all  damnation  that  can  arise  of  men 
or  the  world  !  Vows  and  allegiance  to  the  blackest  pit !  — 
she  shall  be  the  queen  and  lady  of  my  heart." 

The  lovers  then  did  take  them  back  to  the  castle.  The 
curious  questioners  were  soon  silenced  by  Aylwin,  he  telling 
that  the  boy  had  done  no  harm,  but  led  them  a-chase  only 
in  the  spirit  of  mad  frolicsomeuess  consonant  with  the  sea- 
son. He  had  been  overtaken,  and  just  deserts  of  rebuke 
and  chastisement  administered  him.  Let  no  one  concern 
themselves  further,  but  continue  their  disports.  Henceforth 
he  would  take  it  upon  himself  to  look  to  the  behavior  of  this 
wayward  page. 

And  so  did  the  Lord  Aylwin.  He  and  the  Lady  Brilliana, 
taking  themselves  to  the  great  window-seat  in  the  far 
end  of  the  hall,  did  there  seemingly  engage  in  throwing 
dice,  and  played  at  such  other  games  of  hazard,  the  chief  of 
which,  it  is  needless  to  say,  was  the  game  of  love. 

So  things  went  on  till  the  day  grew  drowsy  and  the 
shadows  of  the  hills  stretched  and  yawned.  The  lusty  revel- 
lers sang  farewell  roundelays  and  madrigals  more  boister- 
ous than  tuneful ;  yet  'twas  intended  in  good  part,  and  so 
received. 

"  My   Sweet,"  said   Aylwin,  "  I  will  walk  with  thee  a 


78  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

pace  ;  —  let  us  fall  behind  the  others,  that  love  may  have  no 
idle  audience,  nor  thy  secret  be  divulged." 

"Be  it  so,  dear  Lord,"  answered  the  erstwhile  page,  — 
"  suspicion  lurks  not  in  a  brain  that  teems  with  wine.  Our 
company  has  taken  so  bountifully  of  thy  hospitable  largess, 
that  I  opine  they  have  knowledge  of  little,  saving  their  own 
merriment.  "Pis  a  time  when  questions  and  concerns  are 
fleeing  to  the  winds,  and  folk  busy  themselves  only  with 
what  appertains  to  jollity." 

Coming  toward  the  outskirts  of  Harbledown,  while  the 
rest  of  the  company  passed  on,  the  lovers  tarried  beneath  the 
old  oak,  known  throughout  the  parish  as  the  "  Great 
Druid."  Gnarled,  hoary  and  majestically  imposing  was 
this  patriarch  of  trees.  The  winds  that  murmured  through 
its  mossy  boughs  seemed  to  discourse  and  whisper  secret- 
ively of  old  mysteries,  legends  and  traditions.  What  scenes 
of  love  and  bloodshed  had  it  not  looked  upon.  Celt, 
Roman,  Dane,  Saxon  and  Norman  had  loved  and  fought 
beneath  its  paternal  branches.  White  robed  Druids,  bear- 
ing sickles  of  gold,  had  scaled  its  trunk  and  severed  the 
sacred  mistletoe  which  grew  rank  on  its  limbs.  Local  myth 
had  it  that  the  Dryad  of  the  oak  was  of  great  good  will 
towards  lovers,  and  exercised  a  constant  guardianship  and 
supervision  over  the  affairs  of  heart;  that  vows  and 
compacts  entered  into  beneath  the  tree  were  to  her  matters 
of  lively  interest,  and  their  keeping  she  looked  to  most  care- 
fully. Who  violated  trusts  thus  compacted  were  supposed 
to  incur  her  ill  will,  and  thereby  bring  much  hurt  and  mis- 
chief upon  themselves. 

Therefore  was  the  "  Great  Druid  "  a  far-famed  trysting 


THE    SEAL    OF   DE    BURLEYVILLE.  79 

place  for  lovers ;  and  the  youths  and  maidens  of  the  vicin- 
age rested  not  content  till  their  vows  had  been  inter- 
changed within  the  jurisdiction  of  the  Dryad.  Of  summers' 
nights  and  during  the  bland  time  of  the  harvest  moon,  this 
old  tree  witnessed  many  a  sweet  scene  of  pastoral  passion. 
Locked  in  its  great  faithful  oaken  heart  were  romantic 
secrets  of  centuries,  which  it  had  kept  inviolate.  Once,  long 
ages  ago,  on  a  vernal  evening,  when  the  rabbits  frisked  in 
the  moonlight  and  the  cowslips  peeped  up  from  the  grass 
like  the  pale  faces  of  tiny  elves,  a  tragedy  had  been  enacted 
under  its  sheltering  arms.  But  no  one  knew  it  now — not 
even  the  starlings  and  magpies  who  built  their  nest  among 
the  branches  and  were  on  such  intimate  terms  with  the 
august  tree.  Grim,  kindly,  serene,  immutable,  it  imparted 
to  no  one  that  its  roots  had  drunk  the  blood  of  two  tender 
young  sweethearts,  who  met  there,  took  a  last  long  kiss  and 
embrace,  and  died  by  their  own  wills.  They  thought  it 
better  so.  They  were  young.  There  were  obstacles,  trials 
and  sorrows  in  the  path  of  their  love,  which  their  short 
perspective  of  life  did  not  permit  them  to  see  beyond.  So 
they  sought  death,  that  they  might  be  together  for  aye. 
Another  decade  to  their  years  and  the  horizon  might  have 
been  wider,  and  they  would  have  lived.  His  hand  and  his 
dagger  did  the  work; — it  was  a  quick  stroke,  and  she, 
looking  in  his  eyes,  received  it  in  her  white  bosom  with  a 
smile.  Then  the  red  point  was  turned  to  his  own  breast. 
Another  quick  stroke,  and  he  flung  the  dripping  knife  out 
into  the  grass  and  moonlight.  It  shimmered  and  fell, 
startling  the  playing  rabbits.  Rolled  in  each  other's  arms 
then  they  fell  over  gently.  Their  lips  clung ;  their  hearts' 


80  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

* 

blood  mingled.  And  the  old  tree  sighed  wearily,  knowingly 
overhead. 

Unknown  to  them,  Aylwin  and  Brilliana  now  stood  over 
the  grave  of  those  lovers  of  the  past,  and  plighted,  their  troth. 
He  took  a  seal  ring  from  his  little  linger  and  looked  upwards. 
They  were  not  quite  under  the  mistletoe.  He  drew  her  over 
a  little  to  one  side  and  slipped  the  ring  on  her  third  finger. 
Then  he  turned  up  the  face  —  fair  and  somewhat  boyish,  and 
placed  a  long  kiss  of  first  love  on  her  lips. 

Brilliana  stepped  back  and  sighed.  "  The  ring  slips,  my 
Lord,"  she  said ;  "  it  is  too  large." 

"  What  matter,  my  Sweet  ?  Our  love  is  no  thing  of  trinkets 
or  jimmel  rings.  'Tis  spiritual,  and  its  seal  and  bond  is 
worn  upon  the  soul.  Yet  hold  the  ring  and  wear  it  in  thy 
bosom.  The  imprise  which  it  bears  — the  lion  and  dagger 
of  Guilforth  —  will  thus  escape  thy  father's  eye.  Did 
he  but  see  the  hated  emblem  on  thy  betrothal  finger,  he'd 
crack  the  very  skies  in  wrath.  Wear  it  in  thy  bosom, 
Sweet,  where  it  may  hear  the  pulsing  of  thy  heart  and  ever 
be  a  witness  that  every  throb  beats  true  for  me.  And  if  ever 
false  note  sound  there,  ifc  shall  gall  and  burn  thee  worse  than 
sting  of  cockatrice." 

"  Verily,  and  so  may  it,  my  Lord.  I  know  not  of  love's 
ways  and  of  how  maids  should  carry  on  their  amours.  What 
little  I  know,  I  gathered  from  '  Le  Livre  du  Chevalier  de  la 
Tour  Landay.'  But  I  tell  thee,  if  ever  I  have  a  thought  not 
true  to  thee,  then  may  the  eye  of  heaven  be  shut  forever, 
and  never  beam  again  upon  our  fair  earth.  May  all  the 
legions  of  the  fallen  angels  come  from  their  dark  abysm,  and 


THE    SEAL    OF    DE    BURLEYVILLE.  81 

point  the  finger  of  black  appeachment  at  me,  then  hurl  me  to 
their  miseries." 

"  Well  spoken,  my  chuck,  and  may  St.  Francis  and  the 
Dryad  here  help  thee  to  keep  to  it.  No  very  good  reading 
for  a  lady  is  the  book  thou  speakest  of.  One  would  think 
that  Lauday's  two  daughters  were  strumpets,  that  they  had 
to  be  so  advised.  A  monk  who  schooled  me  at  Baliol 
College  used  to  caution  me  concerning  the  inconsistency  of 
maidens'  hearts.  As  barnacles  to  a  rock,  so  clung  his 
words  to  my  mind,  and  now  they  spawn  misgivings  whether 
I  would  or  not,  nor  can  I  rid  myself  of  them,  though  the 
truth  in  thy  heart  shines  in  thy  eyes  with  a  light  I  should  not 
doubt." 

"•  And  what  said  your  tutor,  my  Lord,  which  made  such 
ugly  impress  on  the  spotless  candor  of  thy  mind  and 
memory  ? ' ' 

"He  parled  much,  my  Heart,  and  seriously  of  maidens' 
wiles  and  deceptions ;  he  said  that  pretty  girls  were  com- 
pounded of  the  devil,  being  made  of  rainbows  and  moon- 
beams, winds,  water,  fire  and  will-o'-wisps ;  they  could  not 
be  come  up  with ;  they  blew  hither  and  thither ;  they  crazed 
a  man  and  drowned  his  senses  ;  they  set  fire  to  his  reason  ; 
they  led  him  a-dance ;  they  were  like  wary  fireflies,  and 
made  men  but  as  a  little  child,  chasing  them." 

"Terrible,  my  Lord!  How  you  do  affright  me  and 
cause  my  heat  to  grow  heavy.  But  sometime  it  was  a  cork 
skipping  and  dancing  on  a  dimpled  sunlit  stream  of  joy ; 
now  it  is  a  stone  sinking  in  a  muddy  pool  of  stagnant  sorrow. 
I  could  die  of  the  sullens." 

6 


82  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

44  Take  not  on  so,  my  Sweet,  the  father  may  have  been  in 
the  wrong." 

"  But  was  he  not  old  and  wise  and  good?  " 

"  So  I  thought  him." 

"  Then  you  believe  him,  and  will  not  love  me  because  I 
am  composed  of  vain  deceits  and  made  by  the  devil?  And 
did  he  further  say  that  a  maiden  spoke  no  truth?  " 

"  He  said  that  when  hair  was  found  on  toads,  teeth  in  the 
bills  of  hens,  horns  on  horses,  hoofs  on  hares,  and  wings  on 
swine,  then  might  we  look  for  truth  in  maidens." 

"Oh,  my  Lord! — thy  poniard — give  it  me  —  I  will 
end  myself.  So  vile  a  wight  were  better  to  die  than  live 
and  be  the  devil's  iniquitous  instrument." 

"  Hold  thee,"  said  Aylwin,  catching  her  hand,  "  the 
reverend  preceptor  said  that  there  was  yet  a  heaven-sent 
saving  salt  which  sometimes  bided  in  a  maid,  transmogrifying 
all  her  evil  propensities  into  properties  of  good  and  glory. 
'Twas  rare,  he  said,  and  few  could  hope  to  find  it ;  yet 
the  old  seers  and  chronicles  bear  strict  evidence  of  such  a 
thing." 

"  And  that,  my  Lord,  —  what  is  it?  Now  gleams  a  pale 
hope-star  across  my  soul's  black  main.  Be  thy  next  words 
as  those  that  rang  o'er  the  primal  chaos,  and  let  this  star 
be  changed  into  a  blazing  sun  which  shall  banish  gloom, 
give  the  clouds  into  Iris's  custody,  and  transform  the  dark 
oppressive  mists  into  radiant  dews." 

"  So  shall  it  be,  my  Fay.  The  good  sage  said  this  qual- 
ity of  salvation  was  a  pure  unfaltering  love  that  would  suffer, 
brave,  and  die,  for  its  beloved.  Such  think  I  that  I  have 
found  in  thee.  So  be  of  bright  cheer.  'Tis  not  writ  that 


THE    SEAL    OF    DE    BURLEYVILLE.  83 

Satan  is  a  salamander  who  can  live  in  the  hot  blaze  of  love. 
I  fancy  that  though  your  love  shine  cold  as  the  moon,  yet 
are  the  rays  of  mine  focused  so  hot  on  thee  that  old  Legion 
could  work  no  evil  in  or  around  thee.  In  such  a  heat  he 
would  wither  and  shrivel  as  a  caterpiller  on  the  hearth.  So 
will  I  not  worry." 

"  Thus  let  it  be,  my  Lord.  And  now  I  must  be  gone. 
Soon  will  my  father  call  me  to  the  evening  mass,  and  my 
absence  be  fecund  of  questions." 

"  Another  kiss,  my  Dove:  and  expect  me  on  Christmas 
Eve  at  the  gaieties  in  thy  father's  hall.  Dressed  as  a  mum- 
mer, I  will  come  in  guise  of  a  husky  strapping  wife.  You 
be  a  page  again,  and  I  have  no  dubitations  but  that  we  shall 
have  occasion  to  give  leash  to  our  Cupid." 

"  It  shall  be  as  you  say,  my  Lord.     Adieu,  adieu." 

"  Another  kiss.     Adieu,  Adieu,  my  Life." 


84  STUBS    OF    TIME. 


CHAPTER    VI. 

Although  the  cold  weather  doth  hunger  provoke, 
'Tis  a  comfort  to  see  how  the  chimneys  do  smoke; 
Provision  is  making  for  beer,  ale  and  wine, 
For  all  that  are  ready  or  willing  to  dine ; 
Then  haste  to  the  kitchen  for  diet  the  chief, 
Plum-pudding,  goose,  capon  minc'd-pies  and  roast  beef. 
Then  well  may  we  welcome  old  Christmas  to  town, 
Who  brings  us  good  cheer,  and  good  liquor  so  brown; 
To  pass  the  cold  winter  away  with  delight, 
We  feast  it  all  day  and  we  f rolick  all  night. 

—  Percy's  Ballads, 

There  was  much  ado  on  Christmas  Eve  at  the  great 
manor  of  de  Burleyville.  Friar  Snicke,  after  much  delib- 
eration, prayer  and  fasting,  had  finally  compromised  with 
his  conscience  and  accepted  the  office  of  Master  of  Merry 
Disports. 

As  atonement  for  the  possible  sin,  he  reserved  a  firm  reso- 
lution to  betake  himself  to  a  lone  hut  in  Romney  Marsh  im- 
mediately after  St.  Distaff's  Day,  and  there  pass  many 
meager  days  in  hunger,  thirst,  flagellation  and  nakedness. 
So  would  old  Nick  be  thwarted,  did  it  happen  that  he  had 
effected  a  footing  in  the  heart  or  gotten  a  grasp  on  the  soul 
of  the  Friar  during  the  lax  period  of  Yuletide. 

Decked  in  his  resplendent  robes  of  office,  the  Friar  now 
superintended  the  important  ceremony  of  bringing  in  the 
Yule  clog.  A  peaked,  belled  and  parti-colored  hood,  or 
wimple,  covered  his  head,  the  lower  portion  being  drawn 


*. 

! 
-- 

.    . 

-^  ' 


THE    SEAL    OF    DE    BURLEYVILLE.  85 

over  his  shoulders,  so  as  to  form  a  broad  collar  or  garget. 
Around  the  neck  of  the  hood  a  scarlet  tippet  was  wrapped 
several  times,  its  loose  end  hanging  down  in  long  streamers 
nearly  to  the  wearer's  heels.  A  tri-colored  cote-hardie  or 
jerkin,  deeply  dagged  around  its  lower  extremity  fitted  snugly 
the  Friar's  globular  figure,  and  reached  midway  the  thighs. 
A  huge  baldrick  girt  him  about  the  zone  of  greatest  circum- 
ference —  the  waist.  The  device  on  its  clasp  was  a  grinning 
boar's-head  impaled  on  a  fork  and  done  in  silver  bas- 
relief.  Striped  trews  belaced  with  tiny  silver  bells  covered 
his  fat  baker-legs,  serving  the  triple  purpose  of  trunks, 
hose  and  leggings.  On  his  feet  were  huge  red  crackoues, 
snouted  and  crooked  up,  being  fastened  to  his  'knees  with 
chains  of  gold  and  silver.  A  loose  mantle  or  super-tunic 
completed  his  attire.  It  was  red  and  blue,  heavily  em- 
broidered, and  inwrought  with  figures  done  in  cloth  of  gold. 
In  his  right  hand  he  held  a  beribboned  warder ;  in  his  left, 
an  immense  kitchen  fork,  whose  mate,  the  carving  knife, 
was  carried  in  his  belt.  An  enormous  horn,  hung  by  a 
strap  from  the  shoulder,  bounced  about  the  Friar's  bulging 
mid-region.  Its  purpose  was  twofold,  depending  upon 
which  end  was  raised  to  the  lips.  Stoppered  it  held  two 
quarts  of  ale;  unstoppered  it  could  emit  a  blast  of  fearful 
volume. 

From  nearby  Hentlingbraw  Wood,  the  great  log  was 
dragged.  With  four  draft  oxen,  silver  cords,  ribbons  and 
bells,  cymbals,  oboes,  cornutes,  and  many  nimble  youths 
and  maidens,  leaping  and  singing  with  much  laughter  — 
thus  it  came.  The  Friar  walked  majestically  alongside  the 
log,  as  the  oxen  with  gilded  horns  and  wreathed  necks, 


86  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

slowly  dragged  it  along.  Troops  of  merry  children  from  the 
neighboring  villakins  of  Ickam  and  Fordwich  dashed  back 
and  forth  in  the  road,  or  circled  as  a  swarm  of  bees  around 
the  gay  procession,  and  made  much  noise.  Seasonable  snow 
had  fallen  over  night  to  the  depth  of  three  inches.  Its 
ubiquitous  background  of  immaculate  white  set  off  the 
scene,  giving  artistic  tone  and  value  to  the  commonplace, 
and  bringing  out  objects  with  a  pleasing  vividness  and 
intensity.  Like  a  harmonious  body-color  it  emmantled  the 
landscape,  as  though  Nature,  the  master  artist,  had  during 
the  night  taken  her  brush  and  added  the  finishing  touches 
to  a  picture  of  Christmas. 

"  1  wish  you  a  Merry  Christmas 
And  a  happy  New  Year; 
And  a  pocket  full  of  money, 
And  a  cellar  full  of  beer; 
And  a  good  fat  pig, 
To  serve  you  all  the  year. 
Ladies  and  gentlemen  set  by  the  fire 
Pity  we  poor  boys  out  in  the  mire." 

—  Sang  the  children. 

"  Not  so  loud,  not  so  loud,  — you  brats  of  Beelzebub," 
chided  the  Friar,  shaking  his  staff  at  them  in  affected 
dudgeon ;  ' '  would  ye  split  the  membrane  of  mine  ears  ?  As 
Sovereign,  I  would  have  mirth  about  me,  but  not  pande- 
monium." 

"  Ule,  Ule,  Ule,  Ule, 
Three  puddings  in  a  pule, 
Crack  nuts  and  cry  Ule." 

—  They  cried,  not  heeding  him. 


THE    SEAL    OF    DE    BDRLEYVILLE.  87 

"  It's  good  to  cry  Ule  at  other  men's  costs,"  growled  the 
Friar,  repeating  the  old  proverb  more  to  himself  than  to  the 
children.  Then  skipping  an  awkward  measure  or  so,  he 
threw  back  his  head,  and  in  a  voice  huskily  hinting  of  ale 
and  hydromel,  he  pealed  forth  an  abortive  song  whose  notes 
sounded  like  the  bastard  offspring  of  discord  and  the  in- 
fluenza. 

"  What  singest  thou,  Friar?  "  asked  Carew,  reeve  of  the 
manor,  as  the  prelate  came  to  a  wheezy  stop  for  the  presum- 
able purpose  of  recruiting  his  wind,  words  or  tune. 

"  The  Gloria  in  Excelsis,  thou  addled-brained  ass,  thou 
mush-headed  interrupter  of  inspired  melody  and  laudation. 
By  thy  fuddle-minded  questioning  thou  hast  caused  me  to 
lose  the  tune.  My  beauteous  anthem  will  now  mount  to  the 
skies  all  bobtailed  and  mutilated  by  reason  of  thy  ill-timed 
impertinence.  It  will  go  soaring  into  the  celestial  realms 
like  a  lovely  peacock  without  its  tail,  and  the  angels  will 
not  recognize  it  as  coming  from  the  dulcet  chords  of  my 
humble  and  adoring  throat.  My  song  was  cut  short  like 
that  of  a  rising  nightingale  struck  down  by  the  coarse 
unfeeling  lanaret.  A  plague  on  thee !  Thou  hast  no  more 
understanding  nor  ear  for  music  than  a  Yule  dough-baby." 

"  Pardon,  Friar,  I  —  " 

"  Call  me  not'  Friar,'  lest  I  impale  thy  grinning  idiot-face 
on  my  sceptre;  am  I  not  thy  liege  Lord,  stupid  clodpole? 
Have  I  not  laid  aside  the  frock  and  cowl  and  assumed  regal 
robes  of  ermine?  I  am  'your  Highness,'  if  it  please  you, 
and  if  it  please  you  not,  then  will  I  condemn  you  in  the  drink- 
ing of  six  quarts  of  ale  'twixt  now  and  midnight,  and  thence 
to  dance  jigs  and  capers  in  the  main  hall  till  daybreak." 


88  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

"  I  shall  observe  your  will,  ray  Liege." 

"  So  'twill  be  better  for  tb.ee,  my  man;  and  hold  thy 
tongue,  for  methinks  I  have  caught  the  tune  again.  I  hear 
it  running  sweet  and  seductive  in  my  head,  begging  me  give 
it  leave  to  express  itself  to  the  world  through  the  grand 
organ  of  my  mouth." 

Again  the  Friar  gave  voice  to  a  jarring  dissonance,  to  the 
great  amusement  of  the  children,  who  caracoled  and  clapped 
their  hands  gleefully. 

As  the  manor  gate  was  neared,  the  din  grew  greater. 
Snow  was  thrown,  trumpets  blared,  dogs  barked,  and  the 
clash  and  clatter  was  terrific.  The  stolid  oxen  broke  into  a 
trot  and  the  disorderly  cavalcade  scampered  helter-skelter, 
hurry-scurry  into  the  court-yard,  the  panting  Friar  bringing 
up  the  rear,  expostulating,  and  singing  snatches  from  some 
rude  old  mass,  current  long  ere  Josquin  was  born. 

That  night  in  the  big  hall  there  was  held  high  carnival 
indeed,  and  jollity  was  rampant.  The  Friar  rather  crapu- 
lous and  unsteady,  from  a  great  throne  at  the  end  of  the 
hall,  dispensed  his  reign,  aided  by  the  Baron,  who,  seated  in 
a  huge  oaken  chair  at  the  feet  of  the  monarch,  acted  as  a 
sort  of  Lord  Chancellor  or  Chief  Justiciary,  ex  officio,  to 
see  that  his  Majesty's  commands  were  rigidly  enforced  and 
executed.  Despite  the  show  of  authority,  Ate  came  near 
usurping  the  Friar's  kingdom.  But  with  the  liberal  flow 
of  wassail,  the  masked  mummers,  the  singing  and  playing, 
the  roistering  games  and  high  jinks,  there  could  be  little  of 
order.  Not  much  did  it  matter,  so  long  as  the  fundamental 
rule  of  government  was  observed  ; — that  everyone  should 
eat,  drink,  carouse  and  be  happy. 


THE    SEAL    OF    DE    BURLEYVILLE.  89 

Buxom  bouncing  maidens,  and  smiling,  simpering, 
glassy-eyed  pages  staggered  around,  drank  healths,  played 
games  of  chance  and  forfeit,  such  as  Spinny  Wye,  Shoe- 
the-wild-mare  and  Tappie-Toussie,  and  harried  one  another 
with  lips  and  arms  under  the  mistletoe.  There  was  wel- 
come for  all,  room  for  all.  About  twilight  when  the  white 
face  of  the  earth  was  yet  softly  suffused  with  the  flush  of 
sunset,  down  the  paths  and  highways  for  a  league  round- 
about had  come  lively  groups  of  persons.  They  converged 
at  the  de  Burleyville  castle,  where  they  formed  the  vortex  of 
merriment.  Each  neighboring  thorpe  had  sent  its  delega- 
tion of  young  folk  as  well  as  its  contingent  of  gray -heads 
and  crooked  shoulders.  And  though  these  latter  bore 
weight  of  years,  they  bore  none  of  heart.  Well  knew  they 
all,  both  young  and  old,  that  the  door  of  de  Burleyville  was 
open  to  each  retainer  of  the  estate  on  Christmas  Eve,  be  he 
villein  or  free  holder.  On  that  blessed  eve  the  serf  met  his 
lord  on  an  equal  plane  of  festivity. 

They  had  all  come ;  the  yeoman's  son  with  the  wood- 
cutter's daughter ;  the  smith  with  the  pavior's  brown-eyed 
lass  from  Canterbury ;  the  soldier  in  his  best  buff  jerkin ; 
the  weaver  in  his  blue  and  white  gaberdine  ;  the  mason  in  his 
white  Holland  shirt; — saucy  damsels,  callow  striplings, 
roly-poly  dames,  and  rustic  gawky  clodhoppers  ;  also  brawny 
men  of  toil  and  war,  many  wearing  masks,  and  all  in  freakish 
or  gala  attire. 

Early  in  the  evening  the  Yule  log  had  been  brought  in 
with  suitable  rites  of  song  and  formality.  Master  Snicke 
had  then  selected  a  bevy  of  pretty  girls  to  cast  lot  for  the 
honor  of  lighting  it.  Clemency  Joyce,  the  tanner's  hazel- 


90  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

eyed,  saucy-faced  bud  of  sixteen,  was  the  lucky  one.  The 
remnant  brand  of  last  year's  clog  was  ceremoniously  brought 
forth  on  a  silver  platter  by  two  pages  and  laid  in  the  Friar's 
lap. 

"Ho,  there,  silence! — all  my  subjects,"  said  Master 
Snicke,  rising  with  considerable  difficulty,  and  rapping  loudly 
with  his  fork  on  the  pewter  beaker  he  had  just  drained. 
"  Wash  thy  hands  well,  my  pretty  maid,  and  then  come  and 
let  me  inspect  thee,  and  receive  the  sacred  chunk  from  the 
hands  of  thy  king." 

The  damsel  washed  her  hands,  went  forward,  and  kneeled 
at  the  Friar's  feet. 

"Let  me  see  thy  hands  that  they  be  clean,"  he~  said. 

She  held  out  her  hands ;  the  Friar  took  them  in  his  and 
raised  her  up. 

"  Spotless  as  snow,  and  now  do  I  seal  thy  lips.  Speak 
no  word  till  the  new  log  is  lighted." 

He  kissed  the  girl's  lips  —  a  longer  osculation  than  the 
function  demanded  —  and  then  with  much  mock  solemnity, 
delivered  the  piece  of  charred  word  into  her  hands.  There 
was  silence,  save  here  and  there  in  the  crowd  was  a  shuffling 
of  feet  of  those  over-balanced  with  ale,  also  some  whisper- 
ings and  suppressed  sniggles  of  the  irrepressible  young. 

The  Friar  frowned  and  rapped  again,  staggered,  and  sat 
down,  with  a  brave  attempt  at  dignity.  The  crowd  parted, 
and  the  maiden  with  bowed  head  passed  down  to  the  great 
fireplace.  There  she  carefully  placed  the  brand  upon  its 
bed  of  crisp  dry  rosemary,  holly,  and  bay,  under  the 
immense  new  log.  Over  all  she  threw  some  seasoned 
slivers  from  a  shrew  ash,  and  then  applied  a  candle  to  the 


THE    SEAL    OF    DE    BURLEYVILLE.  91 

pile.  The  bright  flames  rushed  up  with  a  crackle  and  hiss, 
aud  encircled  the  log.  The  crash  of  drums  and  trumpets 
and  a  loud  cheer  broke  from  the  waiting  assembly.  The 
heavy  tapestries  swayed  to  and  fro  and  the  oaken  rafters  in 
the  high  ceiling  shook  with  the  joyous  clamor.  Christmas 
was  begun  in  earnest. 

It  was  the  custom  for  the  maid  who  lighted  the  Yule  log 
to  preside  with  the  Lord  of  Revelries  as  Queen  of  the  even- 
ing. The  Friar  delegated  a  page  to  escort  the  radiant 
Clemency  to  his  throne,  where,  taking  her  by  the  hand,  he 
seated  her  on  his  right  and  placed  a  wreath  of  bay  and 
mistletoe  on  her  head.  Then  the  courtiers  and  servitors  of 
his  retinue,  and  all  others  who  so  desired,  came  forward  and 
did  her  homage,  kneeling  before  her  and  kissing  her  hand, 
while  the  crowd  sang :  — 

"Reign,  Queen  of  Christmas,  reign, ho-hayl 
Till  we  with  mirth  aud  mead  are  fay ; 
We  are  thy  meu,  aud  if  we  fail 
To  eat  thy  brawn  aud  drink  thy  ale, 
Then  throw  us  i'  the  robbers'  gaol. 

Reign,  Queen  of  Christmas,  reign  ho-hiel 
While  love  and  laughter  caper  by, 
Let  black-jacks  pass  and  song  abide, 
While  serve  we  willing,  at  thy  side  — 
Our  blessed  Queen  of  blithe  Yuletide!  " 

Higher  and  higher  ran  the  flood  of  merriment.  Strong 
beer  was  broached  and  the  black  jacks  went  plentifully 
around  with  toast,  sugar,  cakes,  nutmeg  aud  cheese. 
Towards  midnight,  the  party  began  to  break  up,  —  some 
going  to  hunt  the  wren,  and  others  to  midnight  mass. 


92  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

Among  those  that  remained  were  a  group  of  young  per- 
sons gathered  around  the  Friar's  throne,  being  mainly  com- 
posed of  pages  and  maids-in-waiting,  attendant  upon  the 
royal  pair.  This  party,  under  the  supervision  of  the  Friar 
and  the  Baron,  for  some  time  past  had  been  engaged  in  merry 
games  of  skill  and  forfeit.  The  Baron  beamed  benevolently 
on  the  players,  but,  strict  in  everything,  he  saw  to  it  that  the 
games  were  played  fairly  to  all  and  that  the  rules  were 
rigidly  complied  with.  Notable  among  the  players  were  a 
fair  rosy-cheeked  page  wearing  a  half  mask,  and  a  tall 
angular  young  woman,  who  towered  above  the  other  members 
of  her  sex,  and  had  every  appearance  of  a  rustic  dairy -maid. 

Amid  the  general  hubbub  these  two  persons  had  attracted 
more  than  passing  notice  because  of  the  evident  beauty  and 
grace  of  one  and  the  uncouthness  of  the  other.  The  page, 
having  taken  the  eye  of  the  Friar  early  in  the  evening,  had 
given  his  name  as  Poynes  Verney,  and  was  appointed  chief 
page  for  the  night.  So  had  the  rollicking  Queen  Clemency, 
in  a  spirit  of  fun,  selected  Gramudgin,  the  gawky  milk- 
maid, as  her  maid  of  honor.  Such  distinction  had  brought 
the  twain  into  still  more  prominence,  and  there  had  been 
bred  some  curiosity  as  to  their  real  identity.  They  had 
been  the  butt  of  many  jests  and  gibes,  and  it  became  a 
great  joke  to  bedub  them  lovers  and  twit  them  with  accusa- 
tions of  a  mutual  passion  for  one  another.  The  jesters 
cast  their  fates  with  cards,  and  saw  that  the  paths  of  their 
fortune  ran  together  in  Hymen's  court.  This  badinage 
had  been  aggravated  by  a  seeming  pleasure  which  Poynes 
and  Gramudgin  found  in  each  other's  society.  It  having 
been  decreed  that  they  should  kiss  as  the  forfeit  of  a  cer- 


THK    SEAL    OF    DE    BURLEYVILLE.  93 

tain  game  in  which  they  were  losers,  it  was  observed  that 
they  did  it  lingeriugly  and  with  little  show  of  reluctance. 
Great  was  the  shout  of  laughter  that  had  greeted  this 
spectacle,  when  the  ungainly  and  grotesque  Gramudgin 
bent  over  the  tip-toeing  Poynes  till  their  lips  met. 

Thus  the  hours  flew  by.  "  What  disport  next?  "  your 
Highness,"  said  Poynes,  bowing  before  the  Friar,  at  the 
conclusion  of  a  game  — "what  game  will  it  please  our 
sovereign  Liege  now  to  behold?  Ordain,  my  Lord,  the 
next  festivity  for  thy  happy  subjects  to  engage  in,  that 
there  be  no  tristful  spirit  in  all  thy  realm,  and  that  our 
jollity  may  be  as  sweet  chrism  to  thy  soul.  I  come  as  the 
emissary  of  thy  people  to  announce  that  the  most  honorable 
and  highly  delectable  game  of  Thread-my-needle  is  con- 
cluded, and  thy  loyal  subjects  do  now  clamor  for  a  new 
decree  and  mandate  from  thy  serene  Bouutifulness,  as  to 
what  further  sport  they  shall  pursue  in  order  that  their 
king  and  the  season  shall  be  fitly  honored  and  glorified." 

"  So-ho,  Sir  Page  —  let  us  see  —  another  cup  of  furmety  — 
good !  —  it  drives  the  spur  into  jaded  memory  and  makes  it 
as  an  unbroken  stallion.  It  gives  a  fillip  to  nature.  So 
many  edicts  have  we  issued  this  evening  that  our  store  runs 
short.  Have  the  waits  and  pipers  sung  the  roundels  of 
Gisla  and  Rotrude  ?  ' ' 

"  Ay,  my  Lord." 

"  Another  cup,  Sir  Page.  Good !  — And  the  virelays  of 
the  Sieur  de  Ribeaumont,  —  hast  the  harper  given  us 
them?  " 

"  Early  in  the  eve,  my  Liege." 

"My    memory  grows  laggard — a    little   hippocras,  Sir 


94  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

Page  — the  moiety  of  a  cup.  'Gainst  thou  fetchest  it,  I  will 
bethink  me  —  ah,  excellent!  sweet  page,  —  thou  hast  it  so 
soon?  'Tis  well  flavored,  but  a  little  o'er  strong  of  spice. 
Howsoever,  our  recollections  and  intellect  are  quickened. 
There's  nothing  like  a  temperate  touch  of  the  genial  cup,  my 
lad,  for  bringing  out  the  best  of  one's  wits ;  but  only  the 
wise  and  cautious  know  how  to  use  it  well,  fair  youth ;  and 
I  would  admonish  thee  to  be  temperate,  my  lad ;  thou  art 
yet  unseasoned,  and  ale  to  the  unripe  mind  is  like  too  much 
rain  on  the  hops  or  too  much  strong  leaven  in  the  dough. 
My  character  is  of  such  hardened  holiness  that  the  little 
piccadillos  of  the  flesh  rebound  from  it  without  doing  it  a 
mischief." 

"  Ay,  my  Lord,  your  words  are  as  heavy  with  wisdom  as 
is  your  regal  breath  with  grog.  But  know,  my  Liege,  that 
thy  humble  subjects  do  wait  impatient  for  the  next  decree." 

"  Then  let  them  wait,  thou  paynim,  thou  jobbernole  — 
let  them  wait  and  hear  wisdom  while  we  are  in  the  frame  of 
mind  to  dispense  it.  Let  us  flavor  their  giddiness  with 
words  of  well-timed  discretion.  Our  Pierian  Spring  does 
not  flow  with  uninterrupted  course,  but  spouts  intermittent. 
When  the  fount  is  at  its  height,  let  all  the  people,  no  matter 
what  the  time  or  occasion,  hark  with  hungry  ears,  lest  they 
lose  some  word  of  erudition.  Dost  hear?  " 

"Yea,  your  Highness,  each  word  makes  indelible  im- 
press on  my  mind.  Thou  art  a  second  Solomon,  as  well  as 
Christmas  King." 

"  Well  spoken,  thou  cunning  tyke,  —  so  am  I  —  now  let 
us  see  —  were  we  not  discoursing  on  the  beauties  of  tem- 
perance? and  distilling  learned  maxims  thereupon  ?  " 


THE    SEAL    OF    DE    BURLEYVILLE.  95 

4 '  It  is  so,  O,  King." 

"  Then  we  will  continue  to  conclusion.  Bear  this  in 
mind; — the  first  cup,  my  boy,  sharpens  the  wits;  the 
second  loosens  the  tongue ;  the  third  gives  pugnacity ;  the 
fourth  loosens  the  morals  ;  the  fifth  befuddles,  and  the  sixth 
puts  a  man  in  the  sty.  Thus  with  man.  With  woman,  let 
her  first  cup  be  labeled,  silly;  her  second,  amorous;  the 
third,  brazen;  the  fourth,  reckless;  and  her  fifth, — let  it 
bear  nothing  at  all,  but  be  blank.  Dost  follow  me?  Bear 
in  mind,  young  man,  that  I  learned  these  things  not  through 
experience,  but  by  observation,  reading  and  reflection;  I 
am  a  spiritual  physician ;  he  who  cures  must  know  the 
habits  of  his  patient,  the  structure  of  his  body  and  the  effects 
and  nature  of  the  malady." 

"Yea,  resplendent  Above-all;  but  thy  impatient  servi- 
tors—" 

"So,  so,  —  I  forgot  me.  Now  will  I  turn  the  spigot  on 
my  fount  of  wisdom  lest  the  floods  of  intellect  drown  those 
who  come  to  drink.  I  think  I  have  it,  —  Questions  and 
Answers  —  have  my  vassals  played  that  ? ' ' 

"  No,  serene  Exaltation." 

"  Then  let  it  be.  We  ourselves  will  propound  the  inter- 
rogatories. Gather  the  company  round  about  our  throne." 


96  STUBS    OF    TIME. 


CHAPTER     VII. 

"  My  Phillida,  adieu  love! 

Forever  more  farewell! 
Ay  me!  I've  lost  my  true  love, 
And  thus  I  ring  her  knell." 

— Corydon's  Doleful  Knell. 

11  Be  still  now,"  commanded  the  Friar,  when  the  spright- 
some  young  people  were  collected  about  him  and  the  Baron. 
As  luck  would  have  it,  he  then  singled  out  the  awkward 
Gramudgin  for  the  first  to  be  questioned,  and  bade  her 
come  forth  from  the  ranks  and  stand  in  the  middle  of  the 
circle. 

"  For  the  benefit  of  those  who  know  not,  I  announce  that 
the  rules  of  this  ancient  and  excellent  diversion  are  thus," — 
continued  the  Friar,  —  "whatever  is  asked  must  be  an- 
swered truly  and  properly,  and  our  Queen  shall  be  the  judge 
as  to  whether  'tis  so  done.  If  she  deems  any  answer  insuf- 
ficient in  any  manner,  then  shall  she  fix  the  penalty  that 
shall  be  meted  out  to  the  culprit,  and  it  shall  be  the  boundeu 
duty  of  all  others  to  see  that  the  penalty  is  enforced.  If 
any  consider  them  aggrieved  by  the  punishment  they  receive, 
they  may  appeal  to  our  loyal  subject,  the  Baron,  who  shall 
pass  upon  the  equity  of  the  Queen's  decree." 

The  crowd  clapped  their  hands  right  nimbly,  showing 
that  they  heeded  and  approved  the  monarch's  words.  When 
the  noise  was  stilled,  the  Friar,  pointing  his  finger  at  Gramud- 
gin, went  on :  — 


THE    SEAL    OP    DE    BURLEYVILLE.  97 

"  Now,  my  gentle  lass,  tell  me  thy  real  name." 

"Gramudgin  Giles,  my  Liege,"  the  young  woman  re- 
sponded hoarsely. 

"  Thy  voice  is  like  a  rusty  weather-cock  —  art  thou  male 
or  female?  " 

"  Female,  my  lord." 

The  Friar  turned  to  his  queen:  "What  says  our  royal 
partner —  do  the  answers  suffice?  " 

"Nay,  nay,"  the  Queen  replied,  —  "her  voice,  her 
height  and  her  hips  do  give  her  the  lie.  Therefore  do  I 
command  that  the  mask  and  hood  be  torn  from  her  face." 

The  condemned  one  appealed  to  the  Baron,  but  her  plea 
was  overruled.  She  then  made  a  furious  attempt  to  dash 
through  the  surrounding  hedge  of  players ;  but  was  seized 
and  dragged  back.  There  was  a  fierce,  violent  struggle. 
The  ungainly  young  creature  was  finally  overpowered,  thrown 
down  at  the  feet  of  the  Baron,  and  the  mask  and  wimple 
were  torn  off. 

For  a  moment  those  immediately  around  the  prostrate  figure 
stand  aghast.  Then  they  back  off,  and  a  sudden  and  ominous 
silence  falls  on  the  company.  The  Baron  looks  down.  It 
is  young  Aylwin  Guilforth  who  lies  at  his  feet.  There, 
embroidered  on  the  now  exposed  bosom  of  his  tunic  are  the 
hated  arms  and  insignia  of  Guilforth ;  and  on  his  neck  is  a 
heavy  gold  chain  bearing  a  seal  that  is  engraved  with  the 
crest  of  the  despised  house. 

The  Baron  with  a  violent  motion  draws  his  dagger  half 
from  its  sheath,  and  then  clutches  its  handle,  squeezing  it 
spasmodically  till  the  great  nails  on  his  fingers  flush  red  and 
purple. 


98  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

Back,  back  —  still  further  the  mummers  go  till  they  stop 
in  a  quadrangle  next  the  walls,  many  of  them  trembling 
beneath  their  masks  and  gowns.  The  chief  page  Poynes 
remains  standing  solitary  before  the  Baron.  He  seems  so 
overcome  with  fright  as  to  lose  all  power  of  movement.  His 
knees  shake  so  that  the  jingles  on  the  tamborine  he  carried 
rattle  metallically. 

But  the  Baron  does  not  notice  him.  His  fierce  blue  eyes, 
black  now  with  rage,  stare  into  the  face  of  Sir  Aylwin. 

That  unfortunate  youth  rises  slowly  and  stands  before  the 
Baron,  pale  but  unflinching.  His  lips,  usually  so  full  and 
red  and  ever  ready  to  smile,  are  now  compressed  and  firm. 
His  dark  hair  has  become  dishevelled  by  the  scuffle  and  is 
thrown  about  his  head  in  wanton  picturesqueness.  His  big 
dark  eyes  unwinkingty  return  the  Baron's  terrible  glare. 
A  light  seems  to  be  kindling  in  them  —  a  gleam,  fierce  and 
subtle,  reflected  perhaps  from  his  soul.  It  envelops  the 
accustomed  softness  of  his  eyes,  and  shines  cold  and 
intrepid  like  the  reflection  of  blue  steel  on  a  frosty  morn. 

The  Baron  breaks  forth  —  his  voice  hoarse  and  broken 
with  rage :  — 

"  Dog  of  a  spy  !  sneaking  spew  of  a  cur !  —  how  dares* 
thou  ?  How  darest  thou  to  thus  make  the  sacred  festivities  a 
covert  for  thy  base  villainies  ?  God  ! —  and  'twere  not  the  holy 
time,  I'd  cleave  thee  as  thou  staudest.  Thou  art  a  worthy 
scion  of  thy  dishonored  line,  thou  cursed  asp.  To  think  that 
thou  hast  drunk  and  eaten  in  mine  house !  My  knife  doth  so 
famish  for  thy  blood,  'twere  not  a  marvel  if  of  its  own  accord 
it  leapt  from  its  sheath  and  slacked  its  thirst  at  the  foul 
fountains  of  thy  heart.  And  drink  it  shall,  too,  my  pretty 


THE    SEAL    OF    DE    BURLEYVILLE.  99 

one —  ha,  ha, —  when  the  time  is  ripe  ;  but  I'll  forbear  me 
now,  and  abide  the  fitting  hour,  while  each  passing  day 
shall  see  my  passion  for  thy  blood  grow  and  swell  to  frenzy. 
I  will  spare  thee  till  the  holy  days  are  gone.  It  were  a  crime 
against  high  Heaven  to  spill  the  vile  fluid  of  thy  veins 
during  Christmas,  and  so  taint  the  pure  air  of  the  gracious 
time. 

"  Meantime  I'll  not  rebuke  thee  more.  Thrice  welcome 
thou  art,  my  Christmas  gift.  By  the  Rood,  I  am  a-favored 
of  St.  Nicholas !  that  he  bringest  me  so  rich  a  boon.  For 
such  have  I  prayed  and  done  much  penance." 

The  Baron  laughed  sardonically.  He  called  his  guards- 
men and  had  them  put  young  Guilforth  in  the  deepest  of 
his  dungeons  and  secured  with  the  strongest  of  shackles. 
He  then  turned  his  attention  to  the  page  Poynes,  who  had 
sunk  on  the  floor. 

"  That  boy,"  he  said,  addressing  some  of  his  attendants, 
"  lies  in  a  drunken  fit.  Unmask  him,  wake  him  up  and 
bring  him  before  our  Lord,  the  Friar,  that  he  may  receive 
word  of  admonition  and  deserved  reprimand.  If  he  must 
needs  sleep  off  his  ale,  let  him  to  bed.  We  cannot  have  our 
presence  a  dormitory  for  sots." 

The  attendants  went  and  shook  the  page ;  they  pulled 
him  up  and  brought  him  before  the  throne,  where  they  took 
off  his  mask. 

The  crowd  fell  back  again  and  the  Baron  sprang  to  his 
feet.  "Now,  may  Heaven  save  my  soul!  "  he  exclaimed, 
with  what  little  breath  was  left  him,  as  he  beheld  the  face 
of  his  daughter  Brilliana. 

She  stood  there  unsteadily   before   them   all,  white  and 


100  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

half  swooning.  Tears  had  started  into  her  eyes,  but  their 
flow  was  arrested  by  terror,  and  they  got  no  further  than 
her  lashes  and  lids,  where  they  now  hung  heavily  and 
sparkled  in  the  light  of  the  torches  and  candles.  Palely 
beautiful,  she  hung  her  head  and  seemed  as  a  rare  and 
delicate  flower  when  it  feels  a  sudden  descent  of  an  Arctic 
blast.  They  all  understood  now — the  grace  of  the  page, 
the  soft  roundness  of  his  limbs,  and  the  exquisite  witchery 
of  his  form  and  movement.  Even  above  her  terror,  the 
modesty  and  shame  of  the  lady  because  of  her  costume 
could  easily  be  discerned.  And  so  it  was  that  her  male 
attire  did  not  lessen  one  whit  her  beauty,  but  rather  made 
it  greater;  for  there  was  no  boldness  about  her  at  all,  and 
the  tragedy  of  her  dilemma  and  the  martyrdom  of  her 
aspect  made  each  beholder  feel  like  the  unfortunate  Actseon 
when  he  unwittingly  walked  into  the  grotto  of  the  bathing 
Dian. 

The  Baron  waved  his  hand  and  ordered  every  one  to  leave 
the  hall.  When  they  were  all  gone,  he  took  Brilliana's 
hand  and  sat  her  beside  him. 

"Daughter,  cease  thy  trembling,  and  tell  me  what  this 
means.  Did  I  not  see  thee  kiss  that  Guilforth  dog?  " 

"  Yes,  my  sire." 

"  Didst  thou  know  'twas  he?  " 

"  Ay,  my  Lord." 

The  Baron  seized  her  by  the  arm  and  looked  into  her 
eyes.  His  other  hand  grasped  the  hilt  of  his  dagger. 

"  What  sayest  thou,  damsel?  "  he  hissed,  "  Did  I  hear 
aright?" 

A  deep  color  had   come  into   the  girl's   cheeks,  and  her 


THE    SEAL    OF    DE    BURLEYVILLE .  101 

eyes  flashed  as  she  answered:  "  You  did,  my  Lord:  I  love 
young  Aylwin  Guilforth." 

The  Baron  whipped  out  his  dagger  and  flung  it  violently 
into  the  fireplace  at  the  far  end  of  the  hall.  It  struck  into 
the  Yule  log,  and  quivered,  throwing  off  showers  of  little 
sparks. 

"  Tempt  me  not,"  said  the  angry  peer,  springing  from 
his  daughter's  side,  —  "I  have  a  temper  of  wild  lions  — 
thou  art  my  very  soul,  — yet  in  the  rage  of  duty,  I  could 
carve  thee  as  a  capon." 

He  seized  a  horn  and  blew  a  blast.  In  a  moment  several 
men-at-arms  entered.  He  pointed  to  his  daughter ;  "Take 
her  to  the  topmost  tower  —  double  lock  the  door,  and  bring 
me  the  key.  Damnation  is  abroad.  The  devil  is  loose. 
Treason  and  treachery  are  hatched  in  my  very  house !  " 


102  STUBS    OF    TIME. 


CHAPTER     VIII. 

<l  Though  mountains  meet  not,  lovers  may; 
What  other  lovers  do,  did  they; 
The  God  of  Love  sate  on  a  tree, 
And  laught  that  pleasant  sight  to  see." 

—  Cupid's  Pastime. 

Alone  in  her  prison  turret-room  the  sad  Lady  Brilliana  sat 
and  brooded  through  the  long  hours  of  Christmas  Day's 
forenoon.  It  was  a  southern  tower  of  the  castle,  and 
towards  midday  the  sun  peeped  bright  and  cheery  through 
the  windows,  adding  much  to  the  comfort  of  the  chamber  ; 
for  the  turf  in  the  brazier  had  been  smouldering  so  lazily 
that  the  frosty  outside  air  made  bold  to  enter. 

Once  the  lady  arose  from  her  couch,  took  the  poker, 
stirred  the  fire  coals,  and  then  settled  herself  in  the  window- 
seat.  Sad,  dreamy  and  half-tearful  were  the  big  blue  eyes 
that  gazed  from  the  latticed  window  over  the  snowy  heaths 
and  hills  of  Kent.  The  sunlight  poured  in  through  the 
casement  and  glittered  on  the  effulgent  splendor  of  her  hair. 
Some  color  had  left  her  cheeks  since  yesternight,  and  the 
mouth  of  maddening  mischievous  smiles  was  more  tristful. 
Her  dimples  —  those  whirlpools  of  love  and  beauty  in  which 
Cupid  himself  seemed  to  gyrate,  and  infect  all  who  looked  on 
him  with  his  contagious  giddiness, — reposed  now  in  un- 
usual abeyance.  In  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  the  troubles  of 
first  young  love  had  smitten  the  maiden,  and  with  the 
miracle  of  conscious  womanhood,  had  wrought  other  trans- 


THRUST  ITS  HILT  INTO  THE  COALS. 


THE    SEAL    OF    DE    BURLEYVILLE.  103 

formations  in  her.  A  world  of  seriousness,  tender  and 
sweet,  now  lay  in  her  expression,  and  in  her  wistful  eyes 
were  wonderful  shades  and  depths  of  meaning  never  there 
before. 

She  took  out  her  lover's  ring,  warm  from  contact  with 
her  bosom,  and  looked  at  it  long  and  tenderly,  then  raised 
it  to  her  lips  and  kissed  it  repeatedly. 

Sighing,  she  again  raised  her  eyes  and  looked  across  the 
moorland,  pensive  and  melancholy.  Towards  the  end  of 
the  heath  she  saw  the  purple  lines  of  the  hawthorne  and 
briar  hedges  stretching  across  the  fields  like  frayed  ribbons 
marking  the  allotments  of  the  tenants ;  the  straw-thatched 
dovecote  with  the  bustling  pigeons  on  the  roof,  ruffling 
their  feathers  and  quarreling  as  they  sunned  themselves  ;  and 
just  in  the  courtyard  was  a  platform  on  which  were  the 
pillory,  the  cucking-stool,  and  stocks.  All  these  things  she 
saw  as  one  in  a  dream,  but  thought  not  of  them. 

Earlier  in  the  morning  her  father  had  visited  her,  and  she 
had  begged  him  to  spare  her  lover's  life,  telling  him  the 
story  of  their  meeting  and  of  the  birth  of  their  love.  "  By 
the  Sepulchre!  I  tell  thee,  he  shall  die,"  the  Baron  replied 
angrily;  "The  morn  after  Twelfth  Night  he  shall  die. 
Wouldst  thou  have  me  false  to  mine  vows  and  honor?  He 
shall  die,  child,  he  shall  surely  die.  I  will  do  my  duty 
though  the  sun  be  snuffed  out  like  a  candle  and  the  stars 
drop  hissing  into  the  sea.  Thou  kuowest  thou  art  the  only 
fountain  in  the  desert  of  my  life  ;  the  only  flame  that  flickers 
on  the  cold  hearth  of  my  heart ;  the  one  cherished  flower 
that  has  rooted  itself  in  the  rocky  confines  of  my  soul.  Yet 
I  place  allegiance  to  my  honor  and  oaths  even  above  my  love 


104  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

for  thee.  Do  not  persist  in  thy  foolishness  lest  thou  anger 
me  to  rash  things.  Thou  art  possessed  of  a  devil.  Pray 
God  to  deliver  thee  from  the  evil  spirit  which  incites  in  thy 
heart  this  passion  for  a  cursed  Guilforth." 

He  then  told  her  that  Mother  Critch  would  have  access 
to  her  room,  and  would  bring  her  bodily  sustenance ;  and 
with  a  parting  admonishment  to  discretion  and  steadfast 
prayer,  he  had  left  her. 

"  Hi-ho,  my  sweet,  why  so  sorrowful?  "  said  a  merry 
voice  suddenly  breaking  in  on  the  Lady  Brilliana's  reverie. 
She  looked  in  the  direction  whence  the  voice  came,  and  saw 
a  long  nose  and  merry  eye  peeping  through  the  draperies 
that  hung  over  the  door.  "  One  would  think  thou  wert  the 
only  maid  who  had  ever  loved,  ha,  ha!  Not  so  wofulty,  my 
chuck,  —  not  so  wofully." 

The  tapestries  parted,  and  Mother  Critch,  bearing  a 
trencher  on  which  were  wine,  oaten  cakes  and  capon, 
entered  the  room.  Placing  the  tray  on  the  window-seat, 
she  went  to  the  brazier  and  jostled  the  coals  vigorously. 

"  By  the  Dun  Cow  of  Dunsmere!  "  she  exclaimed,  "  'tis 
cold  quarters  you  keep  for  hot  young  love.  Knowest  thou 
not,  he  is  but  a  naked  boy  without  hood  or  mantle  and  is 
like  to  freeze  ?  ' ' 

"  Nay,  Mother  Critch,  he  may  die,  but  never  freeze.  I 
will  keep  him  in  my  warm  red  heart." 

"  Thou  hast  none,  my  Lady  —  thou  hast  no  heart.  No 
maid  with  a  heart  ever  gazed  out  of  a  window  so  dreamily 
as  I  saw  thee  doing  but  now.  Fie !  fie !  Mother  Critch  is 
no  fool.  She  was  young  once  too,  and  had  eyes  that  saw 


THE    SEAL    OF    DE    BURLEYVILLE.  105 

not  and  ears  that  heard  not.  Your  Ladyship  must  drink 
the  wine  and  keep  the  blood  in  thy  cheeks." 

"  To  what  purpose,  Mother  Critch?  " 

' '  Forsooth !  —  kisses  ;  —  to  what  other  purpose  should  a 
girl's  cheeks  be  kept  rosy  and  dimpled?  Kisses  —  lovers' 
kisses  —  you  would  not  have  your  champion  kiss  a  mere 
ghost?" 

The  Lady  Brilliana  made  no  reply,  but  only  sighed  and 
looked  out  of  the  window  again.  The  old  woman  came  and 
stood  before  her,  a  sudden  tenderness  softening  the  hard 
lines  of  her  face. 

Brilliana  turned  and  regarded  her  with  a  pitiful  little 
smile.  "  Drink,"  said  the  crone,  pointing  to  the  cup  of 
wine.  The  girl  did  as  she  was  bidden.  Mother  Critch  then 
took  her  hand. 

"My  child,"  she  said,  "you  were  suckled  at  this 
breast  —  the  only  girl  babe  that  ever  was  ;  when  you  were 
a  child  it  was  your  place  of  refuge  and  comfort  in  time  of 
trouble ;  you  laid  your  head  there  and  spoke  your  sorrows 
in  mine  ear.  You  are  a  child  again  now,  and  the  old  place, 
the  old  comfort  is  here." 

She  paused  as  she  saw  by  the  trembling  of  the  maiden's 
lips  that  the  storm  of  anguish  was  about  to  break.  In 
another  moment  the  girl  had  thrown  her  arms  around  the 
old  woman's  neck  and  was  weeping  on  her  breast.  Mother 
Critch  mumbled  some  words  of  solace ;  and  in  a  little  while 
the  Lady  Brilliana  was  smiling  and  cheerily  relating  every 
incident  of  her  brief  amour. 

Mother  Critch  tarried  long,  and  the  two  held  a  lengthy 
consultation  in  low  tones.  As  she  left  she  put  her  skinny 


106  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

finger  on  her  mouth,  and  nodded  gravely  —  wisely. 
Already  she  saw  that  a  new  light  had  come  upon  the  Lady 
Brilliana's  face ;  that  there  were  bright  tears  of  joy  in  her 
eyes ;  and  that  those  eyes  now  shone  as  two  stars  of  hope. 
The  kindly  old  soul  shed  a  hard  tear  herself  as  she  locked 
the  doors  and  went  on  her  way. 

That  night  after  the  Lord  Aylwin  had  long  been  asleep  in 
his  dark,  damp  dungeon,  he  was  awakened  by  the  rattle  of 
the  rusty  locks  of  his  prison  door.  He  started  up  thinking 
that  his  time  had  come ;  he  clutched  the  crucifix  on  his 
breast,  and  muttered  a  hasty  prayer. 

The  door  swung  open  and  the  glare  of  a  torch  flashed  in. 
In  the  dim  smoky  light,  he  saw  three  figures.  The  bearer 
of  the  light,  an  armed  man,  preceded  and  entered  the  room  ; 
behind  him  appeared  the  shadowy  forms  of  two  women. 

"  My  sweet  Lord  Aylwin,"  said  a  gentle  voice. 

The  speaker  came  into  the  light,  and  the  young  Lord 
beheld  the  Lady  Brilliana. 

She  was  arrayed  all  in  white,  and  her  hair  was  loosened 
and  streamed  down  her  shoulders  in  resplendent  floods  of 
scintillating  gold.  The  light  glimmered  on  her  pink  and 
white  face:  excitement,  timidity,  emotion  —  were  all  there, 
and  each  seemed  lending  additional  charm  to  her  beauty. 
Clutched  to  her  breast,  and  holding  it  with  both  her  small 
hands,  she  carried  the  great  sword  of  de  Burleyville. 
Aylwin  thought  he  dreamed.  He  put  up  his  hands  to  his 
forehead  and  stared  spellbound  at  what  he  believed  to  be  a 
vision. 

"  Beauteous  angel,"  he  murmured  like  one  in  deep  sleep 
might  do:  "what  does  it  mean?  Why  comest  thou, 


THE    SEAL    OF    DE    BURLEYVILLE.  107 

lovely  apparition,  thus  to  me  in  mine  slumber?  Hast  thy 
father  slain  thee,  and  thou  bringest  me  his  sword  wet  with 
thy  blood?  Speak  and  expound  me  the  meaning  of  thy 
beatific  visitation?  " 

"  Wake  up,  man,  and  cease  thy  drivelling,"  muttered  a 
cracked  voice.  And  Mother  Critch  shook  the  knight  by  the 
shoulder,  while  her  burly  son,  Crowgill,  paused  and  held 
the  torch  aloft.  "Gather  thy  wits,  quickly  —  we  have 
come  to  save  thee.  Here  is  thy  love,  —  greet  her  like  a 
man  and  not  like  a  halting,  stuttering  craven." 

Sir  Aylwin  needed  no  further  woi'ds.  Forgetting  all  save 
Brilliana,  he  sprang  up  and  rushed  towards  her.  He  got 
but  a  few  feet  when  the  chains  on  his  ankles  jerked  him 
back,  and  he  tumbled  headlong  into  the  girl's  arms.  Both 
fell ;  and  both  rose  to  their  knees. 

"Ahem!"  said  Mother  Critch,  after  a  considerable 
length  of  time. 

All  was  still  again. 

"  Ahem  — ahem!  "  she  repeated  louder. 

Nobody  heeded  ;  but  the  motionless  Crowgill  caught  her 
eye,  and  grinned  grimly. 

The  old  crone  grew  impatient,  "That'll  do — that'll  do, 
my  doves,"  she  scolded,  as  she  turned  to  a  brazier  which 
she  had  brought  in  with  her,  and  shook  its  glowing  coals 
fractiously.  "  That's  long  enough,  even  for  hungry  young 
hearts.  They'd  keep  at  that  till  doomsday  if  we  let  them. 
Brilliana,  remember  there  is  work  to  be  done  otherwhere 
than  in  the  Seventh  Heaven.  Turn  about.  Pick  up  the 
sword  and  heat  the  seal.  Master  Aylwin,  bare  thy  shoulder 
and  prepare  to  come  into  the  de  Burleyville  fold." 


108  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

Brilliana  parted  from  her  lover,  picked  up  the  sword  and 
thrust  its  hilt  into  the  burning  coals  of  the  brazier. 

"  What  does  all  this  mean?  "  asked  Aylwin,  surprisedly 
regarding  the  strange  proceedings. 

"  It  means  that  thou  must  be  branded  with  the  seal  of  de 
Burleyville  if  thou  wouldst  have  the  faintest  hope  to  keep  thy 
life  and  win  thy  bride,"  answered  old  Critch. 

' '  Why  that  ?  Why  may  we  not  flee  together  ?  I  will 
take  her  to  our  stronghold  in  the  North  and  defy  the 
Baron." 

"  Not  while  I  live,"  put  in  Crowgill,  closing  the  door  and 
locking  it  on  the  inside.  "  I  will  not  violate  my  allegiance 
to  my  master  by  being  a  party  to  thy  escape  — 1,  who  am 
the  trusted  gaoler.  But  I  see  no  breaking  of  my  pledges 
to  faith  in  suffering  a  Burleyville  to  brand  thee  with  the 
seal." 

"  So  let  it  be,  then,"  joyfully  consented  Sir  Aylwin. 

He  then  proceeded  to  unfasten  his  doublet  from  about 
his  neck,  taking  out  one  arm  from  its  sleeve  till  his  firm 
bare  shoulder  stood  out  in  the  light  as  white  as  marble. 

Meantime  the  Lady  Brilliana  was  heating  the  sword  and 
looking  sorrowful,  as  she  thought  of  the  pain  she  must  needs 
cause  her  beloved  one.  Serious  were  her  eyes,  while  she 
watched  the  seal  grow  hot.  Mother  Critch  produced  a 
bellows  and  blew  the  coals  into  a  roaring  ruddy  glow.  The 
anxious  maiden  then  saw  the  hilt  grow  red  as  the  embers. 
She  looked  towards  her  lover. 

"  Art  ready,  my  Heart,"  she  asked. 

"  I  await  thee,  my  Soul,"  he  answered. 

She  took  up  the  sword  and  held  it  in  both  hands,  per- 


THE    SEAL    OF    DE    BURLEYVILLE.  109 

pendicularly,  and  ran  to  him.  A  tear  fell  from  her  eye  and 
hit  sputtering  on  the  hot  iron.  One  moment  she  laid  the 
weapon  down  on  the  floor  while  she  stooped  over,  put  her 
arm  around  her  lover's  neck,  and  kissed  the  spot  she  was  to 
sear. 

Then  she  jerked  up  the  blade.  There  was  a  hissing, 
stewing  sound  —  a  savor  of  burnt  flesh ;  and  the  girl  flung 
down  the  sword  with  a  clatter. 


110  STUBS    OF    TIME. 


CHAPTER     IX. 

Joy,  gentle  friends,  Joy, 

And  fresh  days  of  love  accompany  your  hearts." 

—  Shakespeare. 

The  morn  succeeding  Twelfth  Night  was  dark  and  gloomy. 
Great  murky  snow  clouds  sprawled  heavily  over  the  sky, 
and  intermittent  unfriendly  winds  sang  gloomily  across  the 
moors,  or  howled  depressingly  around  human  habitations. 
The  smoke  came  cowering  from  the  chimneys,  wavered  an 
instant,  and  then,  caught  in  the  bold  arms  of  the  ravishing 
blast,  it  was  torn  asunder  and  whirled  hither  and  thither 
in  attenuous  and  ever-lessening  wraiths  of  blue  and  brown. 

The  Baron  arose  early  and  with  a  merry  heart.  He  sang 
a  bloodthirsty  old  war  song  as  he  dressed  himself  in  his 
finest  raiment ;  he  breakfasted  most  heartily,  and  then  sat 
him  down  to  await  the  hour  of  noon,  which  he  had  set  for 
the  execution. 

"  Ha,  ha,"  he  chuckled,  in  his  heart's  depth,  —  "this 
day  sees  the  fulfilment  of  my  dearest  wish ;  it  means  the 
final  triumph  of  de  Burleyville  and  the  ultimate  extinction 
of  the  race  of  Guilforth  dogs.  The  caitiff  that  I  kill 
to-day  is  the  last  scion  of  the  house,  and  his  death  will  mean 
his  father's  also." 

Thus  meditating,  it  presently  occurred  to  the  nobleman 
that  there  was  a  strong  probability  of  the  parent  Guilforth 
making  a  speedy  and  desperate  attempt  to  save  his  son. 
In  fact  rumors  to  that  effect  had  not  been  lacking,  and  he 


THE    SEAL    OF    DE    BURLEYVILLE.  Ill 

had  heard  that  battering  rams  and  other  infernal  engines 
were  making  in  the  Guilforth  premises.  Now  that  the 
sacred  days  were  over,  he  doubted  not  that  an  attack  might 
be  made  at  any  moment. 

Therefore,  the  uncertainty  of  all  mundane  things  being 
considered,  he  thought  it  best  to  have  the  prisoner  beheaded 
at  once,  and  not  delay  the  matter  an  unnecessary  instant. 

He  summoned  the  faithful  Crowgill,  and  bade  him  bring 
out  the  captive  and  proceed  at  once  with  the  execution ; 
that  the  friends  he-  had  invited  to  witness  it  at  noon  would 
no  doubt  be  disappointed,  but  they  could  hold  a  high  feast 
and  carnival  with  him  anyhow,  and  view  with  pleasure  the 
head  and  limbs  of  the  victim  on  the  high  points  of  his  castle. 

While  Crowgill  went  to  fetch  the  doomed  one,  the  Baron 
ascended  to  his  daughter's  room.  Arm-in-arm  with  her  he 
purposed  witnessing  the  death. 

"  Come  forth,  my  sweet,"  he  said  to  her,  in  blithe  glad 
tones,  —  "  the  hour  of  divine  judgment  and  justice  is  here. 
With  me  thou  must  now  behold  the  triumph  and  exaltation 
of  our  blood.  The  falling  of  the  wretch's  head  shall  also 
mean  the  end  of  thy  imprisonment." 

The  Lady  Brilliana,  though  serious,  bore  herself  with 
becoming  fortitude.  This  did  not  escape  the  Baron,  who 
observed  ;  ' '  Right  thankful  am  I  to  see  the  good  effects  of 
thy  praj-ers,  that  thou  bearest  thyself  so  bravely.  I  doubt 
not  the  devil  of  thy  insane  love  has  been  cast  out.  I  paid 
the  good  Friar  Snicke  ten  marks  to  pray  for  thee,  and  bade 
him  exert  his  powers  in  exorcising  the  demon." 

The  Lady   Brilliana   smiled  weakly,    but   said    nothing. 


112  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

Leaning  on  her  father's  arm,  she  descended  the  winding 
stair  of  the  tower  and  went  forth  into  the  courtyard. 

The  news  had  spread  like  wildfire  that  the  execution 
would  be  expedited.  Already  the  enclosure  was  filled  with 
the  retainers  of  the  estate,  both  male  and  female.  There 
were  also  many  others  from  the  vicinage,  who  had  come 
early  for  purposes  of  idle  curiosity. 

Around  the  execution  block,  the  sight-seers  stood  thick 
and  expectant —  all  with  different  emotions  showing  in 
their  faces.  Some  had  eagerness  of  blood  in  their  eye ; 
others  looked  a  trifle  fearful.  Unfeeling  little  urchins 
plowed  their  way  to  the  front  ranks,  gibbering  and  jesting, 
and  making  prophecies  concerning  the  details  of  the  coming 
event.  Old  warriors,  stolid  and  stoical,  stood  grimly  by, 
silent  and  immobile.  Shrivelled  and  watery-eyed  old 
women,  their  wizened  features  half  concealed  in  tattered 
mufflers,  shuffled  around,  chattering  and  croaking.  Young 
girls  hung  together  in  groups,  now  talking  in  low  voices, 
now  tittering,  and  sometimes  breaking  out  in  high  trebles 
of  mirth. 

At  last  there  was  a  commotion  in  that  part  of  the  crowd 
next  to  the  castle  door.  Men  and  women  were  pushed 
aside,  stern  voices  spoke  in  low  tones.  The  crowd  wavered 
and  opened.  Eight  soldiers  came  marching  into  the  arena. 
In  their  midst  walked  Sir  Aylwin,  Friar  Snicke,  and  Crow- 
gill,  the  executioner.  The  young  Lord's  hands  were 
securely  bound,  but  he  carried  a  high  proud  head,  and  his 
eye  was  clear,  fearless  and  masterful  as  an  eagle's.  Friar 
Snicke,  heavily  loaded  with  rosaries  and  a  great  Bible,  walked 
by  his  side  and  mumbled  words  of  comfort  and  encourage- 


THE    SEAL    OF    DE    BURLEYVILLE.  113 

ment  in  his  ear.  Crowgill  followed,  carrying  a  heavy  keen- 
edged  broadaxe. 

The  Baron  raised  his  hand  and  made  the  crowd  stand 
back.  Then  he  led  the  Lady  Brilliana  close  to  the  block, 
where  the  two  took  their  stand  as  the  captive  was  brought 
up  and  the  guardsmen  stationed  themselves  roundabout. 

Crowgill  took  some  hasty  low-toned  orders  from  the  Baron. 
He  caused  the  unresisting  prisoner  to  kneel  before  the  block, 
and  commenced  to  unlace  the  doublet  from  his  neck  in  order 
that  his  axe  might  have  unimpeded  sweep.  In  these  final 
offices,  the  Friar  assisted,  still  muttering  words  of  sustain- 
ing hope  and  cheer.  They  pulled  the  garment  down  from 
the  young  knight's  neck. 

Lady  Brilliana  bent  forward  and  watched  their  every 
movement.  Her  lips  were  parted ;  her  eyes  strained  and 
intense. 

Further  still,  Crowgill  slipped  the  garment,  till  the  left 
shoulder  of  Sir  Aylwin  was  exposed.  And  there  on  his  fair 
skin,  like  rubies  inlaid  in  marble,  appeared  the  seal  of  de 
Burleyville. 

Brilliana  saw  it,  and  clutched  her  hands  in  a  full-souled 
prayer  of  thanks  to  Heaven. 

The  Baron  saw  it  not. 

"  Strike !  "  he  thundered.     "  Why  that  dalliance?  " 

"  My  Lord, —  "  began  Crowgill. 

"  Strike,"  commanded  the  Baron,  not  hearing  him. 

The  man  still  demurred.  The  Friar,  having  recovered  a 
little  breath,  approached  the  Baron  and  pointed  to  Aylwin'.s 
shoulder. 

The  peer,  now  thoroughly  enraged  at  the  dela\ .  saw 

8 


114  STUBS    OF   TIME. 

nothing  and  heard  nothing.  He  sprang  forward,  snatched 
the  axe  from  the  headsman's  hands,  and  before  any  could 
stop  him,  swung  it  aloft  over  the  captive's  head,  and 
brought  it  down  with  a  furious  stroke. 

Simultaneously  a  great  noise  arose  outside  the  walls,  and 
a  thick  shower  of  arrows  fell  among  the  people.  Another 
moment,  and  the  gates  were  battered  down,  while  with  a 
great  shout  the  forces  of  Gruilforth  swarmed  in. 

The  Baron  de  Burleyville  was  standing  motionless  over 
the  body  of  his  victim,  on  whom  he  now  beheld  the  seal. 
The  axe  dropped  from  his  nerveless  fingers ;  he  placed  his 
hand  on  his  heart,  and  with  a  face  white  as  death,  he 
turned  to  his  daughter. 

Struggling  to  reach  the  body  of  her  lover,  she  staggered 
by  her  father.  An  arrow,  which  Heaven  in  its  mercy  had 
guided,  protruded  from  her  breast.  She  reached  her  lover's 
body  and  fell  gently  over. 


1  HIT'S  JE3  LIKE  I  TELL  YOU." 


UNCLE  BILLY'S  ADVICE.  115 


UNCLE   BILLY'S   ADVICE. 

Major  Owen  had  gone  to  pay  his  devoirs  to  the  widow 
Weatherford,  and  Aunt  Sally  and  Uncle  Billy  were  in  his 
kitchen,  discussing,  like  every  one  else  just  then,  the  rela- 
tions existing  between  the  widow  and  the  Major.  Every 
one  was  anxious  for  the  match,  and  did  all  they  could  to 
bring  it  about.  The  Major  was  a  prosperous  bachelor  of 
fifty  —  the  widow,  like  most  widows,  was  of  uncertain  age, 
but  fresh-looking  and  spry.  She  was  evidently  on  the 
carpet  again,  and  the  Major  had  little  competition,  as  beaux 
were  scarce  in  the  neighborhood. 

Yet  no  one  could  see  how  it  would  ever  come  to  pass ;  for 
their  natures  were  diametrically  opposed.  Sentiment  was 
the  dominant  element  in  Mrs.  Weatherford,  while  the  Major 
was  all  prose  and  utilitarianism.  He  had  never  been  known 
to  evince  the  smallest  spark  of  sentiment.  The  widow  was 
fond  of  poetry,  painting,  nature,  and  romance ;  the  Major 
never  seemed  to  have  a  thought  for  anything  but  the  prosy 
details  of  agriculture,  stock-raising,  and  such  practical 
matter-of-fact  things. 

"  Yas,"  Uncle  Billy  was  saying,  "I  wants  to  see  um 
merried  —  I  likes  um  bofe  —  de  Majer  is  my  Boss,  an'  I 
wants  'im  ter  git  er  good  wife." 

"Yas,"  answered  Aunt  Sally,  "  I  wish  dey'd  git  mer- 


116  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

ried,  too:  dey's  mighty  well  suited  to  one  an'er  in  some 
ways.  De  Majer  he's  well-to-do  an'  wants  er  wife,  an' 
Miss  Helen  she's  good  lookin'  an'  wants  er  husband :  hit 
looks  like  dey  ought  to  come  togedder ;  but  I  feard  dey  is 
gwi'  hang  fire.  Dey  don't  seem  to  coperate,  somehow  — 
hit  looks  like  dere  cunst'utions  is  difunt." 

"  Naw,  Sis  Sally,  I  don'  see  how  dey  is  ever  gwineter  be 
brought  tergedder,"  Unele  Billy  continued,  " — dey  don't 
seem  to  be  leastwise  kumpatibil :  dere  tempertures  don't 
seem  to  be  er  tall  harmonical. 

"  When  I  drove  urn  f'om  chuch  las',  Sunday,  dey  was 
bofe  settin'  tergedder  on  de  back  seat  uv  de  kerddge,  an'  I 
could  hear  mighty  plain  every  word  dey  say,  an'  I  see  den 
how  matters  was.  Miss  Helen  she  try  to  talk  'bout  books 
an'  po'try  an'  flowers  an'  sech  things,  an'  de  Majer  he  turn 
'er  off  on  'tatoes  an'  pigs  an'  peas  an'  sech  like. 

"We  passed  er  patch  uv  clover  in  full  bloom,  an'  Miss 
Helen  say  —  '  O  what  beautiful  clover !  —  how  sweet  an' 
fragrint  it  is!  — isn't  it  lovely  Majer?  What  is  it  dat  de 
poet  says  'bout  de  bees  on  de  clover? ' 

"  Den  de  Major  he  kinder  grunt  an'  'spon'  back  an'  says 
he  don?  know  what  no  poet  says  'bout  it,  but  he  know  dat 
clover  is  ripe  an'  ought  ter  be  cut.  Den  he  goes  on  an' 
tells  'er  'bout  his  'sperience  wid  clover  —  'bout  how  it  gin 
de  slobbers  to  his  fine  mare  'cause  he  fed  it  to  her  las'  year 
when  'twas  in  bloom.  He  talked  clover  an'  he  talked 
clover:  he  talked  'bout  clover  wet,  an'  he  talk  'bout  clover 
dry;  'bout  good  clover  an'  po'  clover;  'bout  his  clover 
an'  all  de' neighbor's  clover.  He  talk  clover  till — G-awd 
knows  —  hit  mos'  put  even  me  to  sleep.  Miss  Helen  she 


UNCLE  BILLY'S  ADVICE.  117 

sot  dere  endurin'  uv  it  like  —  savin'  '  yas  '  an'  '  no  '  in  er 
kinder  fur-away  viece. 

"  Arter  while  when  he  git  thu  wid  clover,  he  started  on 
timothy  an'  millet,  an'  he  come  on  down  thu  oats  an'  rye  — 
on  thu  corn  an'  wheat  till  he  hit  on  wire-grass.  I  lay  back 
den  'ginst  de  side  uv  de  kerridge  to  take  er  nap,  'cause  I 
knowed  wire-grass  was  his  fav'rite  subjic'.  Yas  Lawd,  — I 
knowd  when  he  got  on  wire-grass  couldin  nothin'  less  dan 
de  smash  up  an'  tu'n  over  uv  de  kerridge  stop  'im ;  so  I 
lay  back  an'  let  'im  rip.  'Twas  er  warm  day  an'  we  had 
right  smart  ways  to  go :  de  hosses  was  gwine  slow,  an'  I 
dozed  an'  nodded  clean  till  dey  stopped  at  de  front  gate  an' 
I  tumbled  off  de  seat.  I  picked  myself  up  an'  jumped  out 
to  open  de  gate.  De  Majer  was  still  talkin'  wire-grass. 
Miss  Helen  looked  kinder  faint  like  she  jes  come  thu  er 
spell  o'  sickness,  but  de  Majer  kep'  ginnin'  er  wire-grass  — 
nothin'  but  wire-grass.  Lawd !  —  he  gin  dat  'oman  wire- 
grass  'nough  to  kill  'er.  How  kin  er  man  'spec'  er  'oman 
to  have  'im  when  he  do  like  dat?  If  he  jes'  hader  gin  'er  a 
little  v'ri'ty  —  if  he  jes'  hader  throwed  in  er  little  pusly, 
or  sheepmint,  or  peppergrass,  it  wouldner  been  ha'f  as  bad. 
Po'  Miss  Helen,  she  urns'  dreamed  'bout  wire-grass  dat 
night —  sho." 

"  Well,"  said  Aunt  Sally,  "  I  can't  see  what  she  want 
to  go  wid  Mm  fur  if  dat  way  he  do  'er.  If  Jim  Thomas 
hadn't  talk  ter  me  'bout  suppin'  'sides  wire-grass  he  never 
woulder  merried  me  —  naw  my  Gawd!  " 

"  En  if  he  was  to  start  it  now  you'd  mighty  soon  be  er 
grass  widow,  wouldn't  you?  "  asked  Uncle  Billy,  grinning 
at  his  own  facetiousness,  which  Aunt  Sally,  however,  took 
seriously. 


118  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

"  I'd  mighty  soon  break  'im  uv  it,"  she  fired  back,  her 
anger  rising  at  the  mere  thought  of  such  a  thing. 

"  Well,  to  tell  the  trufe,"  continued  Uncle  Billy,  I  b'lieve 
Miss  Helen  likes  de  Majer  toFble  well.  I  don'  see  how  she 
kin  —  he  sech  er  tiresome  puson  —  but  she  mus',  or  she 
wouldn't  keep  gwine  wid  'im  so.  De  Majer  is  a  fine  man 
in  his  way — but  Lawd,  his  way!  I  don'  see  how  she  kin 
ever  git  up  de  courage  to  merry  'im  'cepin'  she  think  she 
won't  have  to  be  so  perlite  to  'im  after  she  got  'im,  an'  kin 
tell  'im  what  she  think  uv  some  uv  his  doins',  an'  an'  break 
'im  uv  his  bad  habits.  Wimmin  is  mighty  curious  —  if 
dey  likes  er  man  tol'ble  well,  dey'll  put  up  wid  er  heap  f 'om 
'im  'fo'  dey  is  merried,  an'  den  merry  'im  on  de  faith  uv 
breakin'  'im  in  arterwards." 

"  Dat's  er  mighty  risky  bis'uess,  doh,"  put  in  Aunt 
Sally,  "  an'  hit  takes  er  strong-minded  'oman  to  do  dat 
way.  I's  broke  Jim  Thomas  uv  one  or  two  bad  habits 
since  we's  been  married,  but  for  de  mos'  part  I  purged  'im 
'fo'  I  ever  toP  'im  I'd  take  'im.  He  had  er  bad  habit  uv 
chewin'  terbacco  an'  spittin'  in  comp'ny,  an'  I  tol'  'im  up 
an'  down  if  I  ever  see  'im  do  dat  ergin  he  never  would  call 
me  his  wife.  He  stopped  mighty  quick,  I  tell  yer ;  but 
after  we  was  merried  he  thought  he  could  start  it  ergin,  as 
he  had  me  den,  an'  spittiu'  husband's  wa'  no  ground  fur  er 
'vorce.  But  Lawd  !  —  he  didn't  keep  it  up  long.  I  had 
'im  too,  an'  I  knowed  dat  er  wife  was  a  priv'lige  charicter, 
an'  could  use  de  broomstick,  while  er  sweetheart  had  to 
'fine  'erse'f  to  threats. 

"  But  it  takes  er  strong-minded  'oman  like  I  is  to  do  dat : 
wife's  broomstick  is  stronger  'suasion  dan  sweetheart's 


UNCLE  BILLY'S  ADVICE.  119 

threats,  but  it  ain't  every  'oman  whar  kin  use  it.  Miss 
Helen  better  be  keerful,  if  she  ever  'spec'  to  merry  de 
Majer,  how  she  trus'  to  de  broomstick :  she  better  break  'im 
in  'fo'  she  merry  'im ;  he  mought  be  stronger-minded  dan 
she  is,  an'  wouldn't  take  kindly  to  de  broom  handle." 

"Well,"  said  Uncle  Billy  after  a  pause,  "I  'spec'  you 
is  right  'bout  dat  —  Miss  Helen  better  break  'im  in  'fo' 
she  take  'im,  but  I  don'  see  how  she  gwi'  do  it.  Dis 
breakin'  in  bus'ness  ain't  no  easy  job  nohow,  an'  you  know 
de  Majer  is  er  pow'ful  sensitive  man  wid  er  mighty  high 
'pinion  uv  hisse'f ;  an'  Miss  Helen  know  as  well  as  I  does, 
dat  if  she  ever  gits  arter  'im  'bout  anything,  he  gwi'  git 
'fended  an'  hurt,  an'  ten  to  one  by  de  debil's  clock  if  he 
ever  notice  'er  agin.  De  Majer  ain't  got  no  idea  how  folks 
laughs  at  his  'culiarities  —  he  ain't  got  no  kith  an'  kin  to 
tell  'im  'bout  it,  an'  yuther  folks  don'  like  to  do  it ;  cons'- 
quiutly  he  goes  on  an'  gits  mo'  and  mo'  curious  an'  sot  in 
his  ways.  If  he  jes'  had  somebody  to  'vise  'im  how  to  do 
an'  how  to  court,  he  might  come  out  all  right.  Ev'body 
kin  see  he's  dead  took  wid  Miss  Helen ;  but  gwine  on  as 
he  does,  talkin'  pigs,  an'  grass,  an'  fresh  meat,  an'  cab- 
bages, I  don'  see  how  he  ever  gwi'  win  'er.  He  thinks  cause 
he  takes  'er  intrust  in  sech  things  dat  ev'body  else  does,  too. 
If  he  would  jes'  talk  'bout  flowers  stido'  grass,  an'  de  moon 
stid  o'  cabbages,  an'  de  stars  stido'  guano;  if  he'd  jes' 
tell  'er  'bout  pictures  an'  poets  an'  sech  sentermints  — 
followin'  de  track  uv  sech  subjic's  till  he  git  to  love,  an' 
den  grab  'er  'round  de  waist  an'  tell  'er  how  he  love  'er  — 
he  mought  do  suppin.  But  gwine  on  like  he  is  now  — 
shoo!  —  he  never  will  git  'er  'cept  she  do  de  courtin'." 


120  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

There  was  silence  for  some  time.  Uncle  Billy  puffed 
meditatively  at  his  pipe,  and  gazed  abstractedly  into  the 
fire.  Presently  he  arose  and  went  and  knocked  the  ashes 
out  of  his  pipe  against  the  andiron. 

"  Tell  you  what  I  gwi'  do,  Sis  Sally,"  he  said  with  the 
deliberate  dignity  and  pride  of  one  who  had  solved  a  great 
problem,  —  "tell  you  what  I  gwi'  do  —  1  gwi'  'vise  de 
Majer." 

"Lawd  o'  mercy!"  exclaimed  Annt  Sally,  " — what 
you  talkin'  'bout  man  !  — you  gwi'  'vise  de  Majer?  —  what 
you  gwi'  'vise  'im  to  do?  —  you's  colored  —  de  Majer  is  er 
high-tone  white  man — what  you  talkin'  'bout  visin'  'im 
fur?" 

"  Don't  keer  if  he  is,"  replied  Uncle  Billy  deter- 
minedly—  "I  know  some  things  you  don'  know,  an'  you 
know  some  things  I  don'  know,  an'  er  grasshopper  know 
some  things  bofe  un  us  don'  know.  Dere's  heap  o'  difunt 
kinds  o'  wisdoms  in  dis  worP,  an'  er  man  knows  dat  bes' 
whar  he  done  had  'sperience  wid.  'Cause  er  man  is  white, 
an'  got  book-larnin'  it  don't  follow  dat  he  knows  everything. 
Dere's  heap  o'  larnin  whar  ain't  in  no  book  —  I  knows  dat 
if  I  is  ignunt.  Er  man  can't  know  hisse'f  by  readin'  uv 
books,  an'  he  can't  know  wimmin folks.  Now  de  Majer  don' 
know  hisse'f,  an'  he  don'  know  wimmin  folks.  I  knows  de 
Majer,  an'  I  ought  to  know  suppiu  'bout  wimmin  folks, 
bein'  I's  had  three  wifes.  Now  I  ax  you  what  gwi'  hen' 
me  f'om  givin'  de  Majer  er  few  pints  on  dern  subjic's?  " 

"  You  talk  like  you  know  mighty  lot  'bout  us  wimmin 
folks,"  said  Aunt  Sally, — "  huccum  you  to  know  so 
much?" 


UNCLE  BILLY'S  ADVICE.  121 

"  It's  jes'  like  I  tell  you,"  continued  Uncle  Billy,  ignor- 
ing her  question,  —  "  it's  jes'  like  I  tell  you  —  de  Majer 
don'  know  his  own  pus'nal  'culiarities,  an'  he  don'  know 
how  to  handle  wimmin  folks  —  how  to  please  'um  an'  court 
'um.  Er  man  is  got  to  lay  'side  all  pus'nal  curiousness 
when  he  'dresses  er  'omaii,  an'  he  got  to  'dapt  hisse'f  to 
her  way  uv  thinkin'.  I  gwi'  try  in  er  perlite  an'  sorter 
off-han'  way  to  see  if  I  can't  open  de  Majer's  eyes  on  dose 
pints. 

"  You  see  er  bach'ler-man  likede  Majer  is  apt  to  be  curi- 
ous an'  sot  in  his  ways  —  he  don'  hab  no  wife  to  knock  off 
de  rough  aidges  wid  her  tongue  an'  de  broom-stick ;  an'  it's 
puffectly  natchul  dat  er  bach'ler-man  don'  know  as  much 
'bout  wimmin  as  er  merried  man.  Er  merried  man  is  in 
cunstunt  contac'  wid  er  'oman,  an'  he  larns  all  de  ins  and 
outs  uv  dat  'omaii  any  way.  He  knows  what'll  rile  'er,  an' 
he  knows  what'll  please  'er  mighty  soon,  I  tell  you.  Dar 
ain't  nothin'  like  er  strong-minded  wife  fur  gittin'  er  man 
out  uv  his  pus'nal  cur'osities. 

"  All  wimmin  is  difuut,  an'  all  is  curious,  but  if  you 
know  one  un  'em  well,  it'll  he'p  you  mighty  in  yo'  dealin's 
wid  de  yuthers.  Dey  is  all  difunt,  an'  yit  dey  is  all  like. 
Bar's  cert'in  gin'ral  princ'ples  whar  'plies  to  'em  all.  If 
you  got  er  wife  you  larns  dem  gin'ral  princ'ples  mighty 
soon,  an'  den  you  is  pretty  well  qualyfied  to  deal  wid 
wimmin.  Ev'body  knows  dat  er  widow-man  is  er  heap 
better  an'  mo'  'cessful  courter  dan  er  man  whar  ain't  never 
been  merried. 

"  Yas,  I  gwi'  give  de  Majer  some  pints  — I  gwi'  tell  'im 
er  trick  or  two  —  dat  I  is." 


122  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

"  You  kin  do  like  you  please,"  said  Aunt  Sally,  —  "  I 
don't  keer  —  I  ain't  got  to  bear  de  'spons'bil'ty ;  but  you 
better  be  keerful." 

Uncle  Billy  got  up  and  walked  to  the  door.  "  You  jes' 
wait,"  he  said,  and  went  out. 

Major  Owen  did  not  get  back  from  the  widow  Weather- 
ford's  that  night  until  eleven  o'clock,  and  then  he  seemed  to 
be  in  a  very  bad  humor  indeed.  With  something  that 
sounded  very  like  an  oath  he  called  Uncle  Billy  out  to  take 
the  horse,  and  then  without  another  word  went  into  the 
house  and  slammed  the  door.  Uncle  Billy,  as  he  passed 
the  window  with  the  horse,  saw  him  through  the  half  closed 
shutters,  pacing  the  floor  up  and  down. 

"  Suppin  wrong  wid  de  Majer,  sho-pop,"  he  said  to  him- 
self, —  ' '  reggin  he  gin'er  ernother  dose  uv  wire-grass  dis 
evenin'  an'  she  couldn't  hoi'  herse'f  in  no  longer,  but 
kicked  out  de  traces  an'  scattered  things." 

The  next  day  was  Sunday.  Uncle  Billy,  as  usual,  came 
to  the  door  while  the  Major  was  at  breakfast.  "  'Spose  you 
want  de  kerridge  hook  up  to  take  de  widow  to  chuch  to- 
day? "  he  inquired. 

"No,  I  don't,"  said  the  Major  gruffly,  "  but  you  can 
hitch  the  buggy,  and  drive  me  to  church."  A  little  later 
the  buggy  was  brought,  and  they  started. 

"  Seem  like  you  was  ailin'  las'  night,  Major,"  said  Uncle 
Billy,  after  they  had  proceeded  some  distance  in  silence, 
"  mus'  had  de  toothache." 

"  No,  no,  Billy,"  the  Major  ripped  out  as  though  he  was 
glad  to  open  the  flood-gates  of  his  suppressed  troubles  at 
last,  —  "  no,  but  she  has  kicked  me  good  and  square  — 


UNCLE  BILLY'S  ADVICE.  123 

kicked  me,  I  say,  kicked  me  so  hard  I  haven't  been  clear- 
headed since.  I  can't  realize  it,  Billy,  — I  can  hardly  take 
it  in  —  I  thought  she  would  jump  at  me.  But  she  refused 
me  in  the  most  humiliating  way.  By  Jove !  I  never  have 
loved  her  as  I  do  now  ;  but  it's  all  over." 

And  the  Major  leaned  forward  with  his  face  in  his  hands, 
and  uttered  a  groan.  Whatever  sentiment  he  had  in  his 
nature  had  certainly  come  to  the  front  at  last.  There  was 
silence  for  a  time ;  and  then  Uncle  Billy  spoke  with  great 
gravity :  — 

"  Majer,  lemtne  ax  you  a  question,  —  how  did  you 
'proach  'er  —  how  did  you  pop  de  question  an'  come  to  de 
pint?" 

"Well,  Billy,"  Major  Owen  replied  in  a  disconsolate  voice, 
"  I  thought  I'd  interest  and  impress  her  with  a  sense  of 
my  worthiness  and  prosperity,  so  I  started  in  and  told  her  of 
my  farm,  fruit,  garden,  crops,  and  horses  and  pigs:  I  told 
her  about  the  fine  suit  of  clothes  I  had  on  —  asked  her  to 
feel  what  good  quality  they  were,  and  told  her  how  much  they 
cost.  Finally  I  came  right  out  and  asked  her  to  fix  the  day 
for  our  wedding ;  that  I  liked  her  as  well  as  any  woman  I 
had  ever  seen,  and  I  believed  I  would  like  to  marry  her. 
Then  I  reached  out  and  put  my  arm  around  her,  and  tried 
to  kiss  her,  when — Great  Jupiter !  if  a  bombshell  had  gone 
off  under  the  sofa  I  couldn't  have  been  more  surprised." 

"  What  happened  den,  Majer?  "  Uncle  Billy  asked  in  a 
soft,  sympathetic  voice. 

"  I  hardly  know  what  happened,  Billy,  but  I  know  she 
jerked  her  head  away,  and  gave  me  a  look,  and  I  saw  some- 
thing like  lightning  shoot  from  her  eyes.  Bless  my  soul  if 


124  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

I  don't  believe  it  was  lightning,  too,  from  the  effect  it  had 
on  me.  It  seemed  to  shrivel  me  right  up  —  it  just  seemed 
to  blast  my  very  soul.  I  felt  like  the  most  miserable  wretch 
in  the  world  —  like  a  criminal  about  to  be  hung.  It  was 
some  time  before  I  recovered  myself,  and  in  the  meantime  I 
must  have  been  staring  at  her  like  an  idiot.  I  remember 
she  returned  my  look,  but  said  nothing,  and  the  lightning 
kept  flashing  from  those  eyes.  After  a  while  I  managed 
to  stutter :  '  What's  —  what's  the  matter,  Helen?  ' 

"  '  Don't  call  me  Helen,  Sir!  '  she  said,  and  the  words 
came  out  like  the  spit  of  an  angry  cat,  — l  You  are  very 
offensive  to  me  —  please  leave  the  house.' 

"  And  I  got  up  and  left,  and  was  glad  to  get  out  too: 
the  fire  and  brimstone  in  that  room  was  too  much  for  me." 

The  Major  ceased  talking.  Uncle  Billy  seemed  to  be 
deeply  preoccupied  in  guiding  the  horses  around  a  big  mud 
hole.  Having  accomplished  this,  he  sat  immovable  for 
several  moments,  in  deep  thought,  his  eyes  fixed  on  the 
ground.  At  length  he  spoke  as  though  to  himself,  in  a  soft 
voice,  scarcely  audible,  but  full  of  suppressed  feeling:  — 

"  Je-e-sus  de  Lam'  uv  Gawd!  " 

"  Well,  what's  the  matter,  Billy?  "  the  Major  inquired, 
paying  no  attention  to  the  profanity  of  the  interjection ;  for 
it  was  a  customary  one  with  Uncle  Billy,  who  probably 
through  unconscious  wrong-doing  used  it  as  sinlessly  as  it 
could  be  used. 

"  Whew-ee!  "  Billy  whistled,  "  Gawd  A'mighty,  Majer, 
didn't  you  know  no  better  dan  dat?  Don't  you  know 
wirnmin  folks  better  dan  dat?  How  you  spec  de  'oman  to 
have  you  when  you  ax  'er  like  you  was  doin'  'er  de  greatest 


UNCLE  BILLY'S  ADVICE.  125 

favor  in  de  worP — like  you  was  low'in'  yose'f  to  ax  'er? 
Difunt  winimin  is  got  to  be  won  in  difunt  ways,  but  you 
ain't  gwine  to  get  no  'oman  like  dat. 

' '  Now  er  man  in  er  pit  kin  see  some  things  whar  er  man  on 
de  mount'in  can't  see:  de  ant  he  know  one  or  two  things 
whar  de  elephint  ain't  never  thought  'bout ;  an'  er  ole  fool 
mought  have  found  out  er  trick  or  two  whar  de  young 
smart  man  ain'  never  dream  uv.  Now  you  is  high,  an'  I 
is  low:  you  is  got  edgycation,  an'  I  ain't  got  none;  yit 
howsomever,  dyah  mought  be  er  little  I  knows  an'  you  don' 
know." 

He  paused  as  though  to  give  time  to  these  sage  observa- 
tions to  take  effect,  and  then  continued :  — 

"  Majer,  I's  er  heap  older  man  than  you,  I's  been  er 
kuowin'  you  ever  since  you  was  knee  high  to  a  duck.  I 
been  tote  you  on  my  back,  an'  been  think  all  de  woii'  uv 
you  my  whole  life.  Now,  s'pose  I  take  de  lib'ty  uv  'visin' 
you  er  little  —  what  you  gwi'  think  uv  me?  " 

"  Go  ahead,  Billy,  I  feel  like  a  baby  could  advise  me  this 
morning,"  the  Major  said  humbly. 

"  I's  glad  to  hear  you  talk  like  dat,  Majer,  — she  done 
you  good  already  —  ain't  never  hear  you  talk  so  humble 
befo'. 

".You  see,  Majer,  it's  jes'  dis  way ;  —  you  been  er  bach'ler- 
man  all  yo'  life,  an'  you  done  got  proud  an'  cunceited  and 
sot  in  yo'  ways,  an'  you  don'  know  how  to  wuk  wimmin  folks. 
Er  man  can't  court  er  'oman  'cordin'  to  his  ideas  —  he  got 
to  court  'em  'cordin'  to  dere  ideas  if  he  spec  to  git  urn. 
Some  wimmin  has  to  be  won  wid  humbleness ;  some  wid 
bol'ness  an'  masterfulness ;  an'  yuthers  you  have  to  play 


126  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

like  er  fish,  'vancin'  when  dey  'vance,  an'  retreatin'  when 
dey  retreat.  'Fo'  you  try  to  win  er  'oman's  heart  —  study 
yo'  'oman ;  dat's  de  main  thing,  an'  when  you  know  'er, 
you  got  'er. 

"  I  been  had  heap  o'  sperience  wid  wimmin  folks  in  my 
time  —  three  wives,  an'  de  Lawd  knows  how  many  sweet- 
hearts ;  an'  I  know  what  I  is  talkin'  'bout.  But  I  ain't 
never  see  two  wimmin  yit  whar  could  be  wukked  alike  ;  an' 
I  ain't  never  see  one  'oman  whar  could  be  wukked  alike  at 
two  difunt  times.  In  courtin'  any  'oman  you  got  to  'ceed 
on  de  gin'ral  princ'ples  uv  her  cunst'uton  as  fur  as  you  kin, 
but  you  got  to  vary  dem  princ'ples  'cordin'  to  de  fancy  an' 
de  state  uv  her  min'  at  de  time  uv  de  courtin.'  I  had  to 
use  difunt  princ'ples  in  courtin'  all  my  wifes.  My  fus' 
wife  was  er  mighty  'ligious  'oman,  an'  I  brought  her  'round 
by  larnin'  texts  f'om  de  Bible  an'  spoutin'  dem  at  'er. 
She  was  er  mighty  good  'oman,  an  er  man  could  do  any- 
thing wid  'er  if  he  jes'  knew  'nough  texts.  Moses  Martin, 
de  colored  preacher,  knowed  mo'  texts  dan  I  did,  an'  he  got 
'er  'way  f'om  me  arter  while —  'gtranged  her  'fections,  but 
I  always  blamed  myself  fur  dat :  I  ought  to  knowed  mo' 
texts. 

"  My  secon'  wife  was  er  airyfied  young  gal —  plump  an' 
yaller  as  a  punkin, — fon'  o'  jew'lry  an'  fine  cloze  an' 
puffumery,  an'  jes'  as  crazy  arter  red  as  er  mad  bull.  I 
got  me  er  coat  wid  tails  whar  dragged  de  groun' :  I 
got  me  er  necktie  an'  ves'  de  color  uv  Miss  Helen's 
red  jewranium,  an'  er  collar  whar  took  me  under  de 
yers.  I  kivered  my  fingers  wid  prize-box  rings,  an'  put 
di'mons  in  my  shut  bosom  mos'  big  as  bin's  aiggs.  I  got 


UNCLE  BILLY'S  ADVICE.  127 

me  de  bigges'  seegar  in  de  country:  I  po'ed  muss 
cologne  all  over  myse'f ;  an.'  den  I  sailed  in  fur  'er.  Lawd ! 
I  tell  you  I  was  jes'  dazzlin'  —  I  didn't  have  no  trouble  wid 
'er.  'Twas  er  heap  o'  men  folks  'round  'er  payin'  'er  'ten- 
tion,  but  she  seem  like  she  f ergot  dey  was  livin'  when  she 
seed  me.  I  could  see  dat  my  red  ves'  an'  di'rnons  had 
mos'  done  took  her  bre'f  away.  I  got  close  to  'er,  an'  I 
puffed  my  seegar,  an'  I  fanned  de  puffumery  uv  de  muss 
cologne  in  'er  face.  De  yuther  bucks  seed  dat  I  was  de 
cock-uv-de-walk,  an'  dat  de  jig  was  up  wid  dem,  an'  dey  went 
off  an'  lef  us.  Den  I  made  short  wuk  uv  de  matter.  She 
come  'round  so  easy,  an'  was  so  willin'-  dat  I  felt  like  I 
hadn't  done  much  to  git  'er.  An'  I  hadn't  neither.  Arter  we 
was  merried  sometime,  hyah  come  er  feller  wid  seegars  an' 
di'mon's  little  bigger  dan  mine,  an'  some  muss  cologne  er 
little  stronger  —  and  away  she  went,  an'  I  ain't  never  seed 
her  since. 

"  De  love  uv  young  gals  like  dat  is  largely  er  matter  uv 
who  kin  sport  de  reddest  necktie,  or  who  is  got  de  shiniest 
shoes.  Up  to  er  sartin  age  gals  love  er  peacock  ;  but  arter 
while  dey  loves  er  bird  wid  mo'  meat  an'  less  feathers. 

"  Now,  Majer,  you  knows  Miss  Helen  as  well  as  I  does — 
you  know  she  got  er  cuns'tution  whar  enjoys  po'try  an' 
flowers  an'  sech  things ;  an'  what  de  name  o'  Gawd  you 
want  to  keep  tellin'  'er  'bout  'tatoes,  an'  grass,  an'  ail  dem 
things  fur  ?  If  you  want  to  git  'er,  you  got  to  'due'  yo' 
campaign  in  er  difunt  way.  I  tell  you  what  to  do.  Jes' 
lie  low  till  you  gits  over  de  so'ness  uv  dis  kick,  an'  den  go 
fur  her  ag'in,  but  go  in  er  difunt  manner  f'om  what  you 
been  goin'.  Drap  yo'se'f,-  yo'  farm,  yo'  cloze,  an'  all  dem 


128  STUBS    OF    TIMK. 

subjic's  when  you  is  in  her  comp'ny ;  an'  what  she  wants  to 
'verse  'bout,  dats  what  you  wants  to  'verse  'bout.  You 
wants  to  git  you  some  po'try  books,  an'  squ't  po'try  at  'er 
till  she  can't  res'  —  she  likes  dat — dey  say  'er  fus'  hus- 
ban'  when  he  was  a-courtin'  'er,  talked  in  rhyme  mos'  all 
de  time.  You  mus'  git  up  some  pretty  ideas  'bout  de  moon 
an'  stars,  an'  take  'er  out  in  de  moonshine  an'  shoot  dem 
at  'er  wid  heavy  sighs  'tween  de  loads.  You  mus'  study 
flowers  an'  pictures  —  start  er  flower  garden  on  yo'  place  — 
tell  'er  you  thinkin  'bout  larnin'  how  to  paint —  mos'  have 
er  fit  when  you  hear  pretty  music ;  an'  when  you  see  er  fi'ry 
sunset  holler  like  you  gwine  crazy. 

"  Do  all  dem  things  gradual  like,  an'  make  'er  b'lieve  yo' 
love  fur  her  done  change  de  fundymental  mudsills  uv  yo' 
cuns'tution.  Wimmin  will  b'lieve  sech  things  heap  sooner 
dan  you  think.  Dey's  got  right  smart  cunceit,  an'  dey 
thinks  when  er  man  is  in  love  wid  'em  dat  his  love  is  pow'f  ul 
'nough  to  do  anything.  Make  'er  think  yo'  love  acts  on 
yo'  soul  like  'east  on  bread,  an'  makes  it  rise. 

"  'Nother  thing,  Majer,  when  you  gin  'er  presents,  don't 
you  go  an'  sen'  her  er  bar'l  uv  cabbages,  like  you  done  las' 
Chrismus,  or  chines  an'  spyar-ribs,  like  you  done  on  'er 
birfday.  Sech  things  would  be  mighty  good  presents  fur 
yo'  wife,  but  somehow  dey  don't  look  jes'  right  fur  er 
sweetheart.  Sweethearts  like  airy,  dilicate  things :  dey's 
heap  mo'  fanciful  an'  airyfied  dan  er  wife.  You  sen'  'er 
vi'lets  an'  roses,  candy,  books,  an'  all  dem  things. 

"  Las',  you  got  to  hoi'  in  mind  de  fac'  she  is  er  widow 
'oman ;  an'  you  got  to  be  ticklish  on  dat  account.  Er  man 
has  to  be  mo'  keerful  in  'dressin'  er  widow  dan  he  does  wid 


UNCLE  BILLY'S  ADVICE.  129 

any  yuther  'oman.  My  'sperience  is  dat  widow  wimmin  is 
mo'  anxious  to  git  merried,  but  harder  to  bring  'round  dan 
yuther  wimmin.  You  see  dey  is  always  got  to  compyar  you 
wid  dere  fus'  husban',  an'  if  you  lack  dis  or  dat  whar  de 
fus'  husban'  didn't  lack,  it  makes  ag'in  you. 

"  Den  in  dealin'  wid  widows,  you  got  to  be  mighty  keerful 
in  regard  to  de  fus'  husban'  —  how  you  talks  'bout  'im,  an' 
so-fo'f.  Some  widows  likes  to  talk  'bout  dere  fus'  husban' 
all  de  time ;  while  yuthers  don'  never  speak  uv  'im,  an'  you 
wouldn't  know  dey'd  ever  had  any.  Hit  all  'pends  'pon  de 
cunst'ution  uv  de  widow.  Wid  some  uv  'em,  a  fus'  hus- 
ban', if  you  use  'im  right,  is  de  bridge  whar  you  kin  go  in 
her  heart  on:  wid  yuthers,  de  fus'  husban',  if  you  go  to 
foolin'  wid  'iin,  might  be  er  wall  to  keep  you  out  uv  her 
heart.  So  you  see  you  got  to  be  mighty  ticklish  in  handliu' 
de  fus  husban',  an  mus'  always  gin  her  de  lead.  If  she 
lef  'im  in  de  grave  —  you  lef  'im  dyah  too:  if  she  keep 
pullin'  'im  out  an'  makin'  er  saint  uv  'im  —  you  do  it  too, 
an'  'gree  wid  'er  puffectly. 

"  I  don'  know  how  Miss  Helen  is  in  respic'  to  her  fus' 
husban',  but  I  tell  you  be  keerful,  an'  study  yo'  'oman  — 
fus'  an'  las'  —  study  yo'  'oman." 

"  I  believe  you  are  right,  Billy,"  said  the  Major,  as  the 
advice  was  concluded,  — "I  think  there  is  a  great  deal  of 
truth  and  good  sense  in  what  you  say,  and  that  I  have  been 
acting  the  part  of  an  ass  for  a  long  time.  I  never  thought 
of  it  before,  but  I  see  now  what  a  fool  I've  been." 

"Thank  Gawd!"  fervently  responded  Uncle  Billy  — 
"Hit's  jes'  like  I  toF  Sis  Sally, — all  you  needed  was 
somebody  to  open  yo'  eyes,  an'  now  I  know  you'll  git  her 

9 


130  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

if  you  go  'bout  it  right.  You  ain't  been  no  bigger  fool  dan 
mos'  bach'ler  men:  I's  a  fool  myse'f  till  I  got  merried  an' 
had  er  wife  to  juk  de  kinks  outer  me.  Lawd !  by  de  time 
you's  had  three  wifes,  like  I  is,  you'll  know  suppin'." 

"  Yes,"  continued  the  Major,  "  I  thank  you  for  your 
advice,  and  I  am  going  to  follow  your  plans,  and  start  right 
now  —  whoa  —  stop  the  horse,  Billy,  and  get  out  and  pull 
me  that  passion  flower  and  a  piece  of  that  love-vine  growing 
there;  I'll  put  them  on  my  coat — she'll  be  at  church  to- 
day, and  they  will  show  her  my  appreciation  of  flowers,  and 
at  the  same  time  express  the  state  of  my  feelings." 

"Wait  er  minnit  —  lemme  see  'bout  dat,"  said  Uncle 
Billy,  stopping  the  horse,  and  pulling  his  beard  medita- 
tively. "  She's  'gusted  an'  mad  wid  you  now,  an'  you 
don't  want  to  start  in  too  brash.  Dyar  ain't  but  two  ways 
uv  dealin'  wid  er  mad  'oman :  one  is  to  tu'n  'er  cross  yo' 
lap  an'  gin  'er  er  a  good  spankin' ;  an'  de  yuther  is  to  be 
as  humble  as  er  Quaker  puppy  dog,  an'  be  williu'  to  lick  de 
very  soles  uv  'er  feet  till  she  gits  pleased.  De  fus'  way 
'plies  almos'  'sclusively  to  merried  gentmuns,  an'  only  to 
dem  when  dey  is  better  men  dan  dere  wifes  is.  De  yuther 
way  is  de  one  you  got  to  follow.  I  think  dat  love-vine  an' 
passion  bloom  would  look  too  bol'  an'  brazin  jes'  at  dis 
time.  You  wants  to  look  mo'  grovelin'  an'  humble  till  she 
gits  pleased  wid  you.  If  I's  gwi'  war'  any  flowers,  think 
I'd  take  er  little  piece  uv  dat  everlastin'  dj^ar  —  dey  uses 
dat  at  fun'als,  an'  on  graves,  an'  dat'll  gin  you  er  sorter 
humble  an'  pitiful  look  —  show  her  dat  you  keer  fur  even  de 
homeliest  flowers ;  an'  if  she  keers  to  draw  'elusions  f  'oin 
it  consarnin'  de  state  uv  yo'  heart,,  it'll  please  'er  to  think 


UNCLE  BILLY'S  ADVICE.  131 

yo'  'fection  is  eveiiastin'  in  spite  uv  de  go-by  she's  done 
gin  you." 

This  logic  was  irresistible.  The  Major  soon  had  a  dainty 
spray  of  the  everlasting  in  his  buttonhole,  and  they  went  on 
their  way. 

After  church,  Mrs.  Weatherford  greeted  the  Major  with  a 
frigid  bow  ;  but  her  sister,  Mrs.  Travers,  who  was  a  warm- 
hearted little  woman,  with  deepest  sensibilities,  and  a  very 
keen  sense  of  humor,  spoke  to  him  cordially.  The  picture 
of  humility,  the  Major  walked  with  them  silently  to  their 
carriage,  and  with  downcast  eyes  helped  them  in. 

"  Major,  won't  you  go  by  and  dine  with  us  to-day?  " 
Mrs.  Travers  asked  him. 

"  Thank  you,  no,  —  I  can'tgo  to-day,"  replied  the  Major. 
"What  beautiful  roses  you  have  on,  Mrs.  Travers,"  he 
continued,  conscious  that  the  widow  heard  every  word, — 
"  couldn't  you  spare  me  one?  " 

"  With  pleasure,"  she  replied,  tactfully  concealing  the 
surprise  she  felt  at  the  request. 

The  Major  took  the  rose,  and  humbly  pressed  it  to  his 
lips. 

"  Thank  you  —  good-bye,"  he  said,  raising  his  hat,  as  he 
turned  away. 

"Well,  did  you  ever!  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Travers  to  her 
sister,  when  they  had  driven  off, —  "did  you  ever !  — What 
can  have  come  over  the  spirit  of  the  Major's  dreams?  I 
never  saw  him  wearing  flowers  before,  or  take  any  notice  of 
them.  I  didn't  know  he  was  conscious  that  flowers  had 
ever  been  created.  Did  you  hear  him  admire  my  roses,  and 
beg  for  one?  " 


132  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

"  O  yes,  I  heard  him."  Mrs.  Weatherford  answered  non- 
chalantly, —  "  and  like  you  I  was  surprised  that  the  animal 
noticed  a  flower." 

Time  rolled  on,  and  the  Major  conducted  his  campaign 
according  to  the  tactics  laid  down  by  Uncle  Billy.  People 
wondered  at  the  change  in  him.  Several  times  had  he  been 
caught  reading  romances  and  books  of  poetry;  and  his 
bouquet  had  become  a  part  of  him :  it  would  have  been  the 
subject  of  comment  had  he  appeared  without  it.  Uncle 
Billy  was  consulted  more  and  more  frequently  on  strategic 
points  as  the  time  for  a  crisis  seemed  to  be  drawing  near. 

"  Yas,"  he  was  telling  the  Major,  "  I  thinks  you  done 
got  on  fine.  Dem  vi'lets  an'  candy  an'  books  an'  things 
done  brought  'er  'round,  she's  you  born.  Watch  yo' 
pints  now,  an'  keep  er  clear  head,  an'  she's  yo'  meat." 

"  Think  I'll  settle  the  matter  to-morrow,"  said  the 
Major,  —  "I  am  tired  of  being  in  suspense.  I've  done 
my  best,  and  if  she's  ever  going  to  have  me,  she'll  do  it 
now." 

"  Well  yas,"  said  Uncle  Billy,  "  I  'spec'  'tis  'bout  time. 
As  I  says,  you  is  'parently  done  pretty  well,  and  she  seems 
to  kinder  favor  you  now.  You's  made  one  or  two  blunder- 
in's,  but  I  don't  think  dey  'mounted  to  much.  Sis  Sally 
tol'  me  she  looked  kinder  'gusted  when  you  sent  'er  dat 
mess  o'  turnup  salad  on  Volentine  Day ;  but  as  it  happened 
she  was  very  fon'  uv  turnup  salad,  an'  it  didn't  make  much 
difunce.  You  ought  never  sent  it,  dough,  widout  cun- 
sultin'  me. 

"Yas,  I  speck  you  might  as  well  settle  de  matter  to- 
morrow. As  de  Bible  says,  dyar's  er  time  fur  all  things  — 


UNCLE  BILLY'S  ADVICE.  133 

dyar's  er  time  to  sen'  books  an'  flowers  an'  things,  an' 
dyar's  er  time  to  pop  de  question.  It's  wid  wirnmin  like 
it's  wid  yuther  things  —  you  got  to  strike  while  de  i'on's 
hot." 

The  next  afternoon,  the  Major,  having  put  on  his  best, 
was  ready  to  go  and  find  out  his  doom  from  the  widow. 

"  What  sort  of  flowers  had  I  better  wear,  Billy?  "  he  in- 
quired, as  the  old  darkey  was  inspecting  him  to  see  that  he 
was  in  proper  trim. 

"  Lemme  see  'bout  dat,"  said  Billy  removing  his  hat, 
and  scratching  his  head  pensively,  —  "  lemme  see  'bout 
dat  —  dis  is  er  mighty  critercul  time,  an'  you  can't  be  too 
keerful.  Lemme  see  —  roses,  vi'lets  — naw :  buddercups,  — 
cow-itch  —  pa'tridge  pea  —  pizen  ivy :  naw,  —  dey  won't 
do :  —  clover,  hogweed,  wire-grass  —  naw  my  Gawd !  Tell 
de  trufe,  Majer,  I  spec  you  better  war'  no  flowers  dis  time. 
You  an'  I  don't  know  'nough  'bout  flowers  to  tell  what 
kind  would  be  safe  on  dis  critercul  'casion,  an'  it's  bes'  not 
to  run  any  risk.  Wimmin  is  so  curious  an'  pertic'ler,  dey 
got  feelin's  an'  notions  jes'  like  er  razor  aidge  —  dey  gits 
turned  mos'  if  you  look  at  'em.  Naw,  Sah,  it's  bes'  to  be 
on  de  safe  side.  I  'vise  you  not  to  war  no  flowers,  Majer." 

"  All  right,  Billy,  I  won't.  Have  you  got  any  further 
advice  to  give  me  before  I  go  ?  " 

"  Naw,  Sah,  —  I  b'lieve  I  done  toP  you  all  I  got  to  tell 
you  —  been  tryin'  to  get  you  ready  fur  dis  time  uv  jedge- 
meritfurdelas'  ten  munts.  I'll  tell  you  dough,  as  las'  words, 
to  let  her  do  most  uv  de  courtin'  if  she  will ;  an'  be  mighty 
keerful  'bo  utdat  fus'  husban'.  She's  apt  to  bring  'im  up 
at  sech  er  time,  if  she  ain't  never  done  it  before.  Be  keer- 


134  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

ful  wid  dat  dead  husban',  an'  let  her  gin  you  de  lead 
in  every  thing  if  she  will.  Good-bye,  —  an'  Gawd  gin  you 
good  luck :  I  done  all  I  kin  fur  you.  You  got  to  weed  de 
balance  uv  de  row  by  yo'se'f." 

Major  Owen  came  back  that  night  looking  the  picture  of 
woe.  Uncle  Billy  met  him,  gave  him  a  look,  and  feared 
the  worst. 

"How  did  you  come  out,  Majer?"  he  inquired  in  a 
sympathetic  voice. 

"I  am  afraid  the  jig's  up  with  me,  Billy,"  the  Major 
replied  disconsolately. 

"  Gin  you  de  go-by  ag'in,  did  she?  " 

"  Not  in  so  many  words,  Billy,  but  I  could  see  very  plain 
how  the  land  lay,  and  I  was  afraid  to  ask  her  —  saw  it  was 
no  use." 

"How  was  dat,  Major?  " 

"  Well  you  see,  Billy,  I  thought  first  to  entertain  and 
please  her,  and  get  her  in  a  good  humor ;  so  I  started  to 
tell  her  about  art  and  literature,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing, 
when — bless  my  soul! — I  couldn't  make  any  headway 
before  she'd  catch  me  up,  and  try  to  turn  the  conversation 
to  farming,  cattle,  crops,  and  all  those  things  that  used  to 
make  her  so  angry  when  I  talked  of  them.  She  asked  me 
all  about  my  hogs  and  garden  and  cattle,  till  I  found  out 
she  was  just  trying  to  make  a  fool  of  me,  and  was  laughing 
at  me  up  her  sleeve ;  and  then  I  got  up  and  left.  I  wasn't 
going  to  give  her  the  pleasure  of  kicking  me  again — why, 
what's  the  matter  ?  —  you  —  ' ' 

He  was  interrupted  by  peals  of  laughter  from  Uncle  Billy, 
who  was  apparently  speechless  in  the  paroxysms  of  his 


UNCLE  BILLY'S  ADVICE.  135 

amusement.  After  shaking  for  several  moments  in  that 
laughter  which  is  silent  and  almost  painful  through  its 
excessiveness,  he  finally  managed  to  control  his  risible 
faculties,  and  recover  his  breath. 

"Hurrah!  Majer,"  he  cried,  —  "  you's  all  right — you 
got  'er  jes'  whar  you  want  'er.  When  er  'oman  do  like  dat, 
you  got  'er  — you  hyar  me  — you  got  'er,  Sah.  She  tryin' 
to  please  you  now :  she  gwine  'ginst  de  grain  to  please  you 
now ;  an'  when  er  'oman  do  dat,  you  kin  bet  yo'  las'  cint 
you  got  'er.  Yas  Lawd,  —  go  over  dere  de  fus'  thing  in  de 
mornin',  an'  fix  de  matter  up.  You  don't  have  to  be  keer- 
f ul  now  —  sail  in  any  slap-dash  sorter  way,  an'  you  bound 
to  Ian'  'er.  Kin  war'  any  flowers,  an'  jes'  as  many  as  you 
choose :  war'  er  bunch  uv  dem  passion  blooms  big  as  yo' 
head  if  you  chooses,  an'  wrop  'em  round  wid  er  rope  uv 
love- vine  big  as  er  steer  chain.  Yassir, — you  got  'er 
whar  you  want  'er  now,  an'  you  kin  do  de  leadin'  — kin  be 
as  reckless  wid  dat  dead  husban'  as  you  please  now." 

Next  morning  Uncle  Billy  and  Aunt  Sally  were  in  the 
kitchen  at  Mrs.  Weatherford's,  and  the  Major  was  up  in  the 
parlor.  He  had  been  reassured  by  Uncle  Billy's  view  of 
the  widow's  behavior,  and  was  going  to  try  his  luck  again. 

"How  you  think  he  gwi'  come  out,  Sis  Sally?  "  Uncle 
Billy  was  saying. 

"  Don't  know,  Brer  Billy,  —  things  look  like  dey  is  in 
jes'  as  bad  er  fix  now  as  dey  was  befo'  you  gin  yo'  'vice. 
Dey's  done  see-sawed  'round,  but  'pears  to  be  in  jes'  er  bad 
way.  Majer  used  to  talk  guano  an'  'taters,  an'  Miss  Helen 
talked  books  an'  po'try, — now,  Majer,  he  talk  books  an' 
po'try,  and  Miss  Helen  talk  'taters  an'  guano.  I  don'  see 


136  STUBS    OF   TIME. 

how  dey  is  any  mo'  kumpatible  dan  dey  ever  was.  Dey  is 
done  swop  'round,  but  it  looks  like  dey  is  gwine  to  rub  one 
an'er  de  wrong  way  jes'  as  much. 

"  Las'  night  at  de  supper  table,  thought  I'd  buss  wid 
laughiu'.  Miss  Helen  ast  de  Majer  suppiu  'bout  his  corn. 
De  Majer  he  kinder  blesh  an'  stammer  —  gin  her  er  short 
answer,  an'  change  de  subjic  quick  as  he  could  ;  an'  den 
started  to  squ't  out  er  lot  uv  po'try.  Miss  Helen  'pear  like 
she  didn't  hear  de  po'try,  but  kept  on  pumpin'  uv  'im  'bout 
de  craps,  while  he  kept  tryin'  to  'vade  'er,  an'  tu'n  'er  off 
by  squ'tin'  his  po'try.  Mrs.  Travers  got  in  er  tickle  an' 
mos'  had  to  leave  de  table.  But  dyar  dose  two  sot,  jes' 
ser'ous  as  jedges,  —  she  talkin'  farmin',  an'  he  squt'in' 
rhymes. 

"Naw,  I  don'  see  how  dey  is  ever  gwi'  come  togedder  — 
dat  I  don't." 

"  Well,"  said  Uncle  Billy,  "  we'll  wait  an'  see.  I  got  er 
difunt  'pinion  'bout  it:  you'll  see  dat  —  Hush!  —  "  he 
broke  off  listening.  —  "I  hear  de  Majer  an'  Miss  Helen 
gwine  out  in  de  garden  to  take  er  walk.  Dyar  dey  go  — 
you  hear  dat  don't  you?  " 

"  Yes  dyar  dey  go,"  said  Aunt  Sally,  who  walked  to  the 
window  and  looked  out.  —  "I  got  to  go  out  dere  myse'f, 
prezny,  arter  dem  cloze  I  hung  out  to  dry.  Dey  seems  to  be 
walkin'  'long  right  frien'ly  an'  quiet  like —  reggin  dey'd  git 
on  better  if  dey  didn't  talk." 

"  Dunno  'bout  dat,"  said  Uncle  Billy,  taking  up  a  live 
coal  in  his  fingers,  and  placing  it  on  his  pipe,  —  "  but  let 
um  paddle  de  own  boat — done  all  I  kin  fur  'etn —  done  gin 
de  Majer  de  benefit  uv  all  my  'sperience  wid  wiinmin. 
Dat's  de  bes'  I  kin  do." 


UNCLE  BILLY'S  ADVICE.  137 

"  'Scuse  me  er  minnit,  Brer  Billy,"  Aunt  Sally  said, 
opening  the  door,  —  "I  got  to  go  after  dem  cloze." 

In  a  little  while  she  came  back,  evidently  in  a  state  of  the 
greatest  excitement.  She  slammed  the  door,  and  dropped 
the  clothes  in  the  dirt. 

"  Lam'  o'  Gawd !  "  she  gasped,  —  "I  walked  up  on  em', 
an'  de  Majer  had  'er  in  his  arms  a-kissin'  uv  'er  squar'  inde 
mouf,  an'  she  didn't  seem  to  be  makin'  no  'sistunce 
neither!  " 

Aunt  Sally  sank  panting  into  a  chair,  as  though  quite 
overcome  by  the  thought  of  this  last  observation. 

"  Humph,"  grunted  Uncle  Billy  carelessly,  —  "  no  mo'n 
what  I  'spected.  Dat's  de  'suit  uv  my  'vice.  Whyn't 
you  pick  dem  cloze  up  outer  de  dirt,  'oman?  " 


138  STUBS    OF    TIME. 


NOVEMBER. 

To  one  who  sees  it  aright,  there  is  nothing  more  beautiful 
than  a  November  day.  The  happier  characteristics  of  the 
other  seasons  seem  united  in  the  late  Indian  Summer  days 
to  give  us  something  ideal.  There  is  the  plaintive  sweet- 
ness of  spring,  without  its  languor ;  the  warmth  and  rich- 
ness of  summer, without  its  heat;  and  while  winter's  sterner 
temperament  is  absent,  there  is  enough  of  its  fresh  and 
bracing  air  to  give  tone  and  vigor  to  the  combination. 
November  is  the  unison  of  the  year's  tenderest  moods :  it 
is  the  echo,  the  last  sweet  quavering  strain  of  a  grand  swell- 
ing harmony, — full  of  poetry,  full  of  sentiment,  full  of 
sadness.  It  is  that  placid,  half -ethereal  meeting-ground  of 
life  and  death,  where  Winter,  with  softened  grimness,  takes 
Summer  resigned  and  yielding  into  his  arms,  and  bears  her 
gently,  slowly  away. 

Most  of  the  leaves  have  fallen.  A  few  bright  yellow  ones 
still  cling  to  the  lower  branches  of  the  mulberry  trees, 
giving  a  striking  and  vivid  dash  of  color  to  the  landscape, 
which  is  fast  becoming  wintry.  The  mulberry  leaves  are 
among  the  first  to  show  the  effect  of  the  frost.  When, 
after  a  pinching  autumn  night,  you  see  those  at  the  top  of 
the  tree  shrunken  and  dark,  you  may  know  that  Jack  Frost 


.  s^  i-:    ;;;,  /-:*>  \M.\ 


NOVEMBER.  139 

has  come.  Those  lower,  hold  their  own  somewhat  longer ; 
but  after  a  succession  of  frosty  nights,  some  morning  when 
the  sun  strikes  them  they  will  begin  to  tumble  all  at  once  in 
legions.  The  warmth  of  the  sun  appears  to  precipitate  the 
work  of  the  frost,  and  in  a  few  hours  the  boughs  will  be 
nearly  denuded. 

On  the  giant  sycamores,  too,  some  straggling  leaves  of 
mottled  brown  and  green  remain,  clinging  tenaciously 
to  the  twigs  through  the  fickle  season's  alternate  change 
from  blustering  winter  to  genial  summer,  and  wildly 
dancing  in  a  seeming  vain  effort  to  hide  the  nakedness  of 
the  half  bare  tree.  They  will  soon  give  up  and  drop, — 
one  by  one  when  the  day  is  mild  and  still,  in  hundreds 
when  the  gusty  winds  blow.  They  will  join  the  myriads  of 
their  comrades  that  already  lie  in  the  hollows  of  the  lawn 
and  in  the  fence  corners,  and  with  them  will  race  and  circle 
with  the  whirlwind,  dancing  fantastically  back  and  forth  in 
Nature's  carnival  till  April. 

There  was  once  a  great  painter,  who  feeling  his  final  ill- 
ness upon  him,  asked  that  his  easel  be  placed  by  his  bedside 
that  he  might  paint  his  last  picture.  As  his  life  slowly 
ebbed,  he  worked,  and  there  shone  from  the  picture  a  light 
and  an  inspiration  as  though  from  another  world.  There 
was  expression,  and  soul,  and  a  beautiful  sadness  in  it, 
and,  withal,  a  strange  deep  joy,  such  as  a  spirit  fast 
prisoned  in  mortal  clay  could  neither  have  conceived  nor 
guided  the  hand  that  wrought  it. 

So  would  November  seem  the  masterpiece  of  the  moribund 
year.  There  is  a  tone  in  her  sunshine,  a  tint  in  her  skies, 
which  we  find  at  no  other  season.  The  haze  of  her  golden 


140  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

hours  spreads  over  the  land  like  a  mysterious  mantle  of 
beauty  —  a  grateful  winding  sheet  gently  drawn  over  the 
paling  features  of  dying  Nature.  A  halo  seems  to  hover 
over  the  earth  ;  light  and  shadows  are  more  intense  ;  the 
landscape  is  more  vivid,  more  forcible.  There's  tonic  in  the 
air,  which  gives  enthusiasm  to  life,  and  zest  to  outdoor  move- 
ment and  action.  The  atmosphere  is  more  resonant. 
Sounds  are  carried,  clear  and  musical,  for  great  distances. 
Echoes,  unknown  before,  spring  up  as  though  spontaneously 
generated  in  the  cold,  crystalline  air.  The  bay  of  the 
coursing  hounds  in  the  far  forest  comes  melodiously  soft- 
ened across  the  reaches  of  field  and  meadow.  The  merry 
voices  and  laughter  of  school-children,  as  they  return  home 
upon  the  highway,  are  distinct  at  half  a  mile.  The  cry  of 
the  wagoner  to  his  team,  and  the  sharp  crack  of  his  whip  ; 
the  call  of  a  belated  partridge,  lost  from  his  flock  which 
some  huntsman  has  scattered  ;  the  hoarse  call  of  the  wild 
geese  winging  their  southward  flight  high  over  the  houses 
and  trees  ;  —  these  are  the  voices  — these  and  many  others, 
which  with  the  chirp  and  twitter  of  migrating  birds,  proclaim 
November's  advent. 

Yes,  November  is  the  last  smile  of  the  dying  year ;  a 
tender  thought  in  the  bosom  of  time  ;  the  opal  of  the  calen- 
dar. 

Now  we  hear  the  ring  of  the  woodcutter's  axe,  —  a  reso- 
nant, musical,  half -metallic  sound,  echoing  far  and  clear  in 
the  rimy  air,  as  the  lusty  chopper  plies  blow  after  blow  upon 
the  sturdy  log.  An  adept  in  woodcraft  may  often  tell  the 
kind  of  tree  which  is  being  cut  from  the  sound  of  the  chop- 
ping. Hickory,  being  a  hard  wood,  the  axe  rings  loud  and 


NOVEMBER.  141 

sharp  when  it  is  struck.  Oak  has  a  more  heavy,  but  duller 
note;  while  in  pine,  that  being  much  softer,  the  sound  of 
the  impact  is  more  a  dull  thud  devoid  of  all  resonance. 

There  is  no  sound  more  suggestive  of  winter  and  its  pleas- 
ures than  that  of  wood-cutting.  As  the  axe  rings  out, 
thought  leads  to  thought.  We  think  of  that  charming  old 
household  god,  now  —  alas !  — fast  going  out  of  fashion,  — 
the  great  open  fire  of  logs.  What  associations  cluster 
around  it !  How  dear  it  is  to  all  of  us  who  have  known  it ! 
It  is  the  symbol  of  broad  hospitality,  deep,  domestic  love, 
and  firm  family  endearment  and  ties.  The  great  open  fire 
is  emblematic  of  the  great  open  heart ;  we  can  see  and  feel 
its  glorious  warmth  and  beneficence  —  its  rich  and  full  diffu- 
sion of  good  and  true  influences.  It  is  a  thing  of  life  —  it 
exists  as  an  institution  well  founded  in  human  affections. 
It  has  lent  its  genial  qualities,  its  loyal  integrity,  its  grace- 
ful beauty,  and  its  inspiration  to  History,  Poetry  and  Art. 
Artists  have  painted  it ;  poets  have  sung  of  it ;  orators  have 
eulogized  it,  paying  it  rich  tribute  in  immortal  words ;  and 
patriots  and  martyrs  have  spoken  of  it  in  sincere  words 
laden  with  their  heart's  earnestness.  A  potent  factor  in 
the  upbuilding  of  the  race,  morality,  stability,  fidelity,  and 
sterling  honesty  of  temperament  have  been  nurtured  in  the 
fostering  warmth  of  its  flame.  It  is  the  center  of  all  home 
life  ;  the  cynosure  of  steadfast  devotion  and  real  worth ;  the 
symbol  of  all  happy  and  pure  social  intercourse.  Peace, 
contentment,  kindliness,  and  good  cheer  are  its  grateful 
emanations,  while  broad  and  gracious  hospitality  radiates 
from  every  beam  of  its  merry  light.  There  is  nothing 
which  has  been  more  instrumental  in  drawing  heart  to 


142  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

heart :  in  the  history  of  the  race  there  has  been  no  greater 
humanizer.  While  the  shivering  savages  drew  close  around 
the  cheery  blaze  in  the  bleak  northern  forests,  suffering  man 
met  suffering  man  about  the  common  center ;  acts  of  assist- 
ance, words  of  mutual  sympathy  passed  between  them,  and 
charity,  altruism  and  philanthropy  were  born. 

What  a  pity  that  this  time-honored  and  beneficent  spirit 
should  be  banished  from  the  household !  But  with  the  old 
grandmother  with  her  knitting  and  spinning  wheel,  —  with 
the  sturdy  oak  that  stood  grim  and  gigantic  in  the  virgin 
forests,  it  is  gone.  The  holy  hour  of  the  twilight  gloaming 
has  fled  the  land.  The  sweet  inspiration  of  the  evening 
muse  and  reverie  is  no  more.  The  mingled  glow  and  colors 
of  a  thousand  summer  sunsets  no  longer  flares  and  flickers 
on  our  hearth.  The  lithe  wood  flame  no  longer  croons  as  it 
plays  in  fantastic  jets  over  the  big  logs.  Where  now  shall 
the  children  roast  their  apples  and  potatoes?  Where  shall 
Bruno  stretch  his  shaggy  form  to  bask  in  comfort  while  he 
takes  his  snooze?  What  is  there  to  bring  the  blood  tingling 
back  to  the  cheeks  after  a  frosty  drive,  or  by  its  very 
presence,  to  send  a  thrill  of  cheer  and  comfort  to  the  heart 
of  the  benumbed  traveler?  Where  will  the  corn  be  popped, 
the  chestnuts  roasted  ?  Where  will  the  family  circle  gather 
now  in  sympathetic  communion  of  soul.  Let  us  rue  the 
death  of  our  dear,  old,  venerable  friend,  which  was  the 
comforter  of  the  cold  ;  the  companion  of  the  solitary ;  the 
solace  of  the  low-spirited,  and  a  good  tutelary  Genius  to  us 
all. 

What  a  cheerless,  uncompanionable  thing  a  stove  is ! 
The  coal  fire  with  its  dirty  yellow  flames,  and  its  thick 


NOVEMBER.  143 

heavy  smoke,  is  little  better.  There  is  a  lack  of  life,  luster 
and  charm  about  it ;  it  has  no  mettle,  and  reminds  one  of 
machinery,  factories,  and  the  grosser  phases  of  humanity. 
It  possesses  neither  poetry  nor  sentiment :  its  very  ashes  are 
less  attractive  than  those  of  the  wood  fire.  And  what  shall 
we  say  of  the  steam  heater  and  the  furnace  ?  Of  what  are 
they  emblems?  What  is  there  in  them  to  expand  the 
heart,  or  enkindle  affection  and  homelike  feeling?  Their 
hot  breath  is  not  that  of  fresh  life  and  buoyant  wholesome- 
ness  ;  their  warmth  lacks  all  geniality :  it  warms  the  body 
but  not  the  spirit.  They  are  emblematic  of  a  repression 
and  reserve  of  genuine  things ;  they  conceal  the  heartsome 
source  of  comfort  and  gladness.  They  stand  fof  cold 
materialism,  dull  utility,  the  philosophy  of  physical  luxury 
and  ease.  The  fruits  of  their  fetid  atmosphere  are  divorces, 
lap  dogs,  and  nervous  wrecks.  In  the  homes  where  they 
exist  we  often  find  sentiment  on  its  death-bed,  and  the 
soul's  higher  ideals  pale,  wan,  shadows  fading  away  in 
the  close  air  of  commercialism.  The  furnace  and  the 
steam  heater  may  stand  for  a  higher  civilization,  but 
they  also  mean  that  there  is  absent  from  the  home  a 
virility,  a  strength  and  hardy  freedom  that  abided  there 
when  the  forest  kings  burnt  upon  the  hearth.  They  mean 
that  the  daughters  of  the  land  have  become,  in  many  in- 
stances, artificial  hot-house  flowers,  who,  no  longer  getting 
their  color  from  the  wind  and  sun  as  the  roses  and  apples 
do,  have  to  resort  to  the  dealer  in  cosmetics  around  the 
corner ;  that  they  dream  unwholesome  dreams  of  erotic  sen- 
timentality instead  of  imbibing  true  womanhood  and  real 
love  from  the  teachings  of  Nature,  and  the  fresh  air  of  the 


144  feTUBS    OF    TIME. 

forests  and  meadows,  as  their  grandmothers  did:  they  mean 
that  the  sons  of  the  land  have  lost  their  stout  muscles  and 
fearless  independence ;  that  they  handle  the  day-book,  the 
stock  ticker,  the  typewriter,  or  they  measure  and  cut  the 
yard  of  ribbon,  or  clip  samples  and  tie  parcels  where  once 
the  dells  resounded  to  the  mighty  stroke  of  their  axes,  and 
the  hills  re-echoed  their  merry  shouts  as  they  drove  the  teams 
a-field. 

With  the  departure  of  the  open  wood-fire  it  looks  as  though 
dear  old  Santa  Glaus  must  go,  too,  and  cease  to  be  a  delight- 
ful and  beloved  charm  in  the  lives  of  our  children.  The 
sweet  old  legend  of  childhood !  —  it  suffered  a  great  shock 
when  coal  and  stoves  came  into  general  use  ;  but  now,  with 
the  furnace  and  heaters,  it  would  seem  that  it  must  go. 
Sometimes  we  see  the  touching  sight  of  tiny  stockings  hung 
along  the  mantel  where  the  fireplace  used  to  be.  It  is  a  sad 
travesty  on  St.  Nicholas  and  the  good  old  times.  Where 
shall  Santa  enter  now  ?  The  doors  and  windows  are  tight 
fastened  and  bolted  against  the  burglarious,  midnight  in- 
truder—  he  cannot  come  in  there.  Perhaps  there  are  even 
electric  alarms  that  might  frighten  the  old  fellow  to  the 
imperilment  of  his  toys,  and  which  might  awaken  the  sleep- 
ing innocents  so  he  would  be  caught.  If  there  be  chimneys, 
they  are  much  too  small  to  admit  that  rotund  personage  with 
his  bulging  bag  of  gifts.  But  it  is  more  than  likely  there 
are  no  chimneys  at  all,  and  only  steam  pipes  or  narrow  flues 
not  big  enough  to  admit  the  Saint's  massive  foot.  These 
facts  show  plainly  that  Santa  has  not  kept  pace  with  the 
times,  and  there  must  be  radical  changes  in  his  personality 
if  he  does  not  wish  to  be  a  back  number.  Either  he  must 


NOVEMBER.  145 

reduce  his  avoirdupois  to  such  a  degree  of  attenuation  as 
will  allow  him  to  make  the  descent  of  a  three-inch  pipe,  or 
he  must  acquire  the  power  of  witches  and  genii  to  pass 
through  the  key-hole.  His  beloved  individuality  suffers 
much  in  either  case.  There  would  be  something  lacking 
about  the  Kris  Kringle  who  came  into  a  room  other  than 
down  the  chimney.  He  would  not  seem  real  —  he  would 
scarcely  be  welcome.  One  would  feel  like  asking  him 
reproachfully,  —  "How  dare  you  enter  here,  Sir,  in  any 
manner  save  through  the  chimney?  And  your  reindeer, 
where  are  they  ?  What !  —  not  upon  the  roof !  Who  ever 
heard  of  a  Santa  Glaus  who  did  not  leave  his  reindeer  and 
sleigh  on  the  roof  while  he  filled  the  stocking !  You  certainly 
are  a  freak." 

But  who  that  has  ever  known  the  real  Santa  Glaus  would 
see  him  lose  the  smallest  jot  of  his  characteristics?  That 
august  paunch  with  its  traditional  bowl-of-jelly-like  agita- 
tions ;  those  merry  blue  eyes  all  a-sparkle  with  good  will ; 
that  pert  little  cherry-red  nose ;  the  long  silvery  beard  ;  the 
belt  and  boots,  and  the  fur  coat  and  high,  peaked  cap  —  all 
of  them  have  been  reverend  institutions  in  the  lives  of  chil- 
dren for  years  past.  And  the  reindeer  and  the  sleigh,  and 
the  home  at  the  North  Pole,  where  the  great  books  are  kept 
with  their  statistics  relative  to  good  and  bad  boys  and  girls. 
Must  childhood  be  bereft  of  all  these  dear  old  myths, 
and  become  a  time  of  as  barren  and  prosy  realism  as  is 
maturity  ? 

Yes,  it  would  seem  that  Santa  must  go.  Already  in  the 
towns  has  he  been  largely  superseded  by  that  comparatively 
modern  innovation  the  Christmas  tree.  How  tame  it  is  in 

10 


146  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

comparison  —  a  stuffy,  gross  thing  of  tinsel  and  timber,  the 
creature  of  philistinism.  There  is  not  a  particle  of  mys- 
terious interest  connected  with  it:  it  is  no  better  than  a 
miniature  imitation  of  a  toy  and  confectionery  shop,  with  its 
tasteless  profusion  of  goodies  and  trinkets.  There  is  about 
it  none  of  that  sense  of  affection,  and  of  hallowed  mystery 
that  is  attached  to  Santa  Glaus.  It  cannot  even  be  utilized 
to  get  the  children  early  to  bed  on  Christmas  Eve.  And 
when  the  little  ones  awake  in  the  morning  —  what  a  flat, 
lifeless  pretense  to  usher  them  into  the  presence  of  a  Christ- 
mas tree !  There  is  no  pleasurable  excitement  in  picking  a 
tin  soldier  or  a  Noah's  ark  off  a  twig.  Is  there  a  natural, 
self-respecting  child  in  existence,  who  had  not  rather  pull 
one  apple  out  of  his  stocking  than  take  a  whole  peck  of 
them  off  a  Christmas  tree  ?  The  belief  that  it  was  brought 
by  Santa  Glaus  will  lend  to  a  gift  a  greater  charm  than  in- 
trinsic value  could  possibly  do.  Let  the  magical  influence 
of  Santa  but  be  impressed  upon  a  superannuated  jumping- 
jack  or  a  rickety  old  go-cart,  and  their  value  is  enhanced 
tenfold.  The  knowledge  that  a  gift  was  affixed  to  the 
branches  of  the  Christmas  tree  a  few  hours  before  by  par- 
ental hands  adds  nothing  to  the  enthusiasm  with  which  it 
is  received.  The  modern  juvenile  Platos  may  even  look 
questionably  at  such  performances.  At  a  recent  Christinas 
tree  festival  a  tot  was  heard  to  ask  its  father,  who  was  tak- 
ing a  toy  off  the  tree,  —  "  What  you  want  to  tie  it  up  there 
for?  Why  didn't  you  give  it  to  me  just  so?  " 

But  the  delightful  exhilaration,  the  expectant  ecstasy  of 
Christmas  morning  where  Santa  Glaus  is  a  reality ;  when  at 
the  peep  of  dawn  the  small,  white-robed  cherubs  slip  out  of 


NOVEMBER.  147 

their  beds,  and  steal  to  the  fireplace  to  take  down  their 
stockings  and  see  what  the  dear  Saint  brought.  To  be 
pitied  is  he  who  has  known  no  such  experiences  in  the  fairy- 
land of  childhood.  A  life  without  such  reminiscences  is 
like  a  garden  without  the  rose. 

After  many  frosts  have  fallen,  after  the  trees  stand  naked, 
after  films  of  ice  have  bridged  the  shallow  pools  that  lie  in 
the  meadows,  —  there  will  sometimes  come  a  day  which  one 
might  well  take  to  be  a  derelict  from  the  ranks  of  April.  Gen- 
tle warm  winds  will  blow  ;  there  will  be  snowy  clouds  enough 
to  vary  the  monotony,  and  intensify  the  color  of  the  deep 
azure  sky ;  the  frogs,  whose  voices  have  been  hushed  by 
the  stiffening  of  the  marshes,  will  awake  from  their  hiber- 
nations, and,  coming  out,  pipe  again  in  the  sunny,  secluded 
lowlands ;  the  purple  haze  and  golden  sunshine  mingle, 
seeming  to  vie  with  each  other  as  to  which  shall  lend  the  pre- 
dominant glory  to  the  landscape  ;  birds  flit  about  in  the  soft, 
balmy  air ;  the  sapsucker  gives  his  jeering  cry,  as  he  par- 
takes of  his  feast  of  nectar  on  the  apple  tree,  keeping  a 
wary  eye,  meanwhile,  for  the  farmer  whose  rules  he  is  vio- 
lating ;  the  bluebirds  frolic  to  and  fro  on  the  low  limbs, 
warbling  their  love-notes  plaintive  and  elusive,  and  now  and 
then  exploring  and  peeping  into  hollows  with  a  view  to 
spring  house-keeping;  flocks  of  sparrows  and  j uncos  gather 
under  the  trees  on  the  green  plats  of  grass  lying  like  oases 
in  the  frost-bitten  stretches  of  lawn :  they  catch  the  conta- 
gious spirit  of  the  day,  and  unite  in  a  joyous  medley  of  song. 
A  belated  butterfly,  his  wings  ragged,  and  colors  pale, 
animated  by  the  warmth,  will  rise  from  the  shelter  he  had 
sought  in  the  preceding  cold  days,  and  on  tremulous  wings 


148  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

flit  unsteadily  around  like  the  ghost  of  his  former  self. 
Like  the  flowers,  and  no  more  hearty  than  they,  he  shows 
the  stress  of  the  biting  weather,  and  like  them,  too,  now 
makes  a  struggle  for  existence  on  every  warm  day. 

November  usually  brings  the  first  snow.  Some  day,  to- 
wards the  month's  end,  the  heavy,  black  clouds  will  pile  up 
in  the  north ;  gradually  they  will  spread,  becoming  less 
black  —  encroaching  and  enlarging  till  the  whole  visible 
heavens  are  a  dull,  uniform  grey.  Then  it  begins  to  fall 
gently  —  very  gently  —  a  flake  or  two  tentatively,  as 
though  to  see  if  the  earth  be  ready  for  the  virgin  mantle  of 
purity.  The  dull  smoke  rolls  up  from  the  chimneys,  and 
disappears  in  the  grey  of  the  sky.  The  cardinal  seeks  the 
covert  of  the  thick,  young  cedars,  and  there  expresses  his 
uneasiness  by  repeated,  but  subdued  cries.  Experience 
tells  him  that  the  outlook  is  to  be  feared.  Snow  is  always 
a  serious  thing  with  the  birds ;  it  is  Nature's  embargo  on 
their  granaries ;  while  perhaps  a  graver  feature  is  that  it 
exposes  them  to  much  greater  danger  from  the  free- 
booters —  making  them  conspicuous  at  the  same  time  that 
necessity  drives  them  to  places  of  peril.  The  first  snow 
always  looks  more  beautiful  than  subsequent  ones.  It  is  a 
novelty  then,  and  the  contrast  of  the  changed  face  of  the 
world  is  more  striking.  Thanksgiving  Day,  which  custom 
has  placed  in  late  November,  and  the  first  snow  are  looked 
upon  in  common  acceptation  as  the  ushers  of  Winter. 
Thanksgiving  —  the  feast  of  plenty  —  the  time  of  grateful 
gladness  and  festival  —  had  its  prototype  in  all  ages,  and 
among  nearly  all  peoples.  Always  it  has  been  a  semi- 


NOVEMBER.  149 

religious  fete,   celebrating  the  ingathering  of   the  autumn's 
crops  and  abundance. 

In  these  days  of  agnosticism  and  materialism  we  should 
be  thankful  that  the  beautiful  custom  of  Thanksgiving  is 
observed,  and  that  it  has  the  sanction  of  law  and  govern- 
ment back  of  it.  There  has  been  a  great  falling  away  of 
oldtime  faith,  and  of  old  time  customs  and  traditions.  A 
young  nation  so  jealous  of  restrict  ion  and  suppression  of 
liberty  in  any  field  of  human  activity  may  go  to  the  other 
extreme,  and  in  its  haste  to  break  the  old  idols  of  super- 
stition, custom  and  prejudice,  may  lose  sight  of  the 
elements  of  real  truth  and  worth  that  they  contain.  It  is 
well  that  Thanksgiving  is  becoming  year  by  year  a  firmer 
grounded  institution  of  our  national  life.  By  the  observance 
of  national  holidays  we  may  judge  of  national  integrity. 
On  holidays  one  has  the  best  insight  into  the  heart  of  a 
people.  National  character  reveals  itself  most  plainly  in 
national  festivals.  Christmas  and  Thanksgiving  are  great 
demolishers  of  a  people's  selfishness.  They  are  seasons 
consecrated  to  the  tenderer  feelings  of  the  Great  Human 
Heart ;  they  are  times  of  personal  disinterestedness,  when  a 
man  casts  the  anchor  of  his  material  life,  and  rests  for  a 
while  amid  the  gentle  swell  of  kindly  feeling  and  sympathy. 
At  such  times  one  is  led  to  take  the  bearings  of  one's 
spiritual  course.  In  the  busy  every-day  life  we  have  to 
hold  fast  to  the  helm  that  steers  us  through  the  practical 
actualities  ;  and  we  have  to  keep  an  eye  to  the  more  physical 
matters  —  to  the  corporeal  rocks  and  shoals  of  material 
existence.  But  in  the  calm  of  the  sacred  holidays  we  have 


150  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

time  to  look  at  the  spiritual  compass,  at  the  soul's  cyno- 
sure, and  see  what  our  direction  is. 

Last  night  there  was  a  nipping  frost.  The  moon  was  full, 
and  flooded  the  earth  with  its  cold,  beautiful,  mysterious 
light.  From  the  neighboring  forest  came  the  intermittent 
hoot  of  the  Great  Horned  Owl,  sounding  with  a  sepulchral 
resonance  suggestive  of  ghosts.  To-day  is  the  ideal  Novem- 
ber day  —  clear,  crisp,  and  invigorating.  How  can  melan- 
choly live  in  the  ozone  of  an  autumn  day,  which  must  fill  all 
life  with  young  hope,  new  strength,  and  the  feeling  of  the 
power  of  accomplishment.  This  morning  the  frost  lay  white 
and  shimmering  on  the  fields.  All  day  long  it  has  been 
fleeing  from  the  assaults  of  the  sunbeam  arrows,  till  now  it 
holds  its  position  only  in  the  fastnesses  of  the  deepest  shade. 
This  is  the  day  for  an  outdoor  ramble  and  an  open  air 
carouse  with  Nature.  Let  housed  thoughts  stay  at  home. 
Care  and  sorrow  are  mostly  indoor  creatures.  A  light  heart 
lives  under  the  open  sky. 

But  there  are  rainy  days  in  November — dark  gloomy 
days  when  the  wind  howls  as  though  in  anger  at  not  being 
able  to  drive  the  cold  rain  even  into  the  fire  on  your  hearth, 
and  quench  its  warmth  and  brightness.  The  outlook  is 
dreary  and  forbidding:  one  might  stand  the  wind,  or  even 
the  rain,  and  venture  out  of  doors ;  but  the  combination  of 
both  is  enough  to  put  a  damper  on  the  courage  of  Nature's 
most  enthusiastic  lover. 

On  such  a  day  there  seems  by  contrast  a  profounder  joy 
and  contentment  in  indoor  pleasures.  The  circle  of  thought 
and  action  is  circumscribed  within  the  walls  of  your  cham- 
ber ;  the  resources  of  one's  individuality  are  concentrated, 


NOVEMBER.  151 

and  a  greater  charm  and  intensity  seem  to  result  to  them. 
The  home,  the  fireside,  the  domestic  joys  are  heightened,  and 
glow  in  their  truest  radiance.  The  chill  November  blast 
fans  the  flame  of  home  life  and  love  into  fuller,  larger  ex- 
pansiveness.  Every  shriek  of  the  tempest,  every  mad, 
impetuous  dash  of  the  rain  against  the  window  brings  the 
house-gods  in  closer  circle  around  our  fire.  The  wind's 
wild  paean  sounds  a  reveille  for  pleasant  meditation.  We 
draw  a  wrap  around  our  mental  selves,  as  it  were,  and 
settle  down  in  passive  enjoyment  and  impressibility. 
Thought  is  given  a  liberal  leash,  and  straying  off  into  the 
laud  of  dreams,  comes  back  to  us  full-handed  with  treasures 
gathered  in  its  wanderings. 

On  a  rainy  day  at  home  a  man  is  apt  to  evince  the  deep- 
est yet  most  seldom  revealed  characteristics  of  his  nature. 
At  such  a  time  he  puts  off  and  lays  aside  his  world- 
nature —  the  external  coverings  of  character  which  he  must 
need  don  to  fight  the  every-day  battle  of  life  —  and  his  truer 
individuality  is  disclosed.  In  business  you  see  a  man  as  he 
is  in  the  world,  but  at  home  you  see  him  as  he  is  in  his 
heart.  Every  man  has  a  dual  nature,  the  sentimental  and 
the  practical :  every  man  leads  two  lives,  the  business  life 
and  the  home  life :  one  is  the  conventional,  artificial  life ; 
the  other  is  the  real,  the  natural  life.  Sentiment  does  not 
do  for  the  world:  it  is  a  tender  flower  which  must  be 
cherished  in  the  home.  Yet  the  work  of  the  world  is  but  a 
preparing  of  the  soil  for  the  flower  of  sentiment.  After  the 
crying  needs  of  life  have  been  met,  sentiment  is  what  the 
right  hearted  strive  for.  That  there  are  exceptions ;  that 
some,  losing  sight  of  the  immediate,  become  absorbed  in 


152  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

the  mediate,  does  not  lessen  the  general  truth.  Home 
should  be  the  conservatory  of  sentiment,  but  the  delicate 
plants  are  not  likely  to  bloom  and  flourish  unless  tended 
with  that  care  that  comes  only  from  a  loving  woman's  heart. 
Woman  is,  or  should  be,  man's  home  guard,  —  the  pro- 
tector and  keeper  of  his  heart-treasures.  She  should  pro- 
mote and  enlarge  the  interests  of  sentiment,  while  he  looks 
after  those  of  commerce.  Woman  stands  for  sentiment, 
man  for  practicality :  the  happy  blending  and  harmonizing 
of  the  two  should  be  one  of  life's  aims.  Marriage  and  wed- 
ded life  without  sentiment  is  always  a  failure.  It  is  that 
alone  which  can  make  the  union  a  "  holy  bond,"  and  a 
sacred  institution.  So,  too,  life  without  sentiment  is  cold, 
barren  and  desolate.  It  is  that  only  which  raises  man 
above  the  brute.  In  it  are  founded  all  the  higher,  nobler 
aspirations  of  the  human  soul. 

A  gloomy  day  is  very  conducive  to  an  abandonment  of 
one's  self  to  mental  pleasures.  All  other  forms  of  energy 
are  conserved,  and  the  full  voltage  of  the  vital  forces  are 
turned  into  the  mind.  Out  of  doors  there  is  nothing  to  be 
done  —  nothing  to  dissipate  the  pleasing  currents  of  indoor 
thought.  One  feels  that  one  must  find  employment  and 
amusement  indoors,  and  the  consciousness  of  this  seems  to 
bring  satisfaction.  Contentment  is  often  the  child  of  com- 
pulsion, especially  among  those  restive  persons  who  always 
imagine  they  might  be  doing  something  better.  And  re- 
striction frequently  proves  the  prime  factor  in  the  accom- 
plishment of  great  results.  It  is  necessary  to  bring  the 
sun's  rays  to  a  focus  before  the  intense  heat  is  generated. 
The  imprisonment  of  John  Bunyan  gave  the  world  The 


NOVEMBER.  153 

Pilgrim's  Progress.  Milton's  blindness  was  the  inspiration 
of  Paradise  Lost.  When  the  light  of  the  world  was  cut  off, 
he  looked  into  his  soul  and  wrote  what  he  read  there.  In 
the  flood  of  the  sun's  light  he  had  not  seen  the  sublimest 
visions  of  his  own  heart,  but,  as  the  cloud  of  blindness  ob- 
scured that  light,  the  flame  of  his  genius  flared  up  in  its  true 
radiance  and  proportions.  Constraint  and  circumscription 
are  often  necessary  in  order  for  us  to  see,  understand,  and 
appreciate  the  latent  truths  of  our  nature,  also  its  dormant 
powers.  The  prisoner  learns  to  love  the  little  mouse  which 
creeps  from  the  crevice  of  the  wall,  to  nibble  the  crumbs  on 
the  floor,  and  for  the  first  time  he  realizes  the  sympathy, 
comradeship,  and  kinship  that  exist  between  all  things 
created.  The  flower  when  stripped  of  all  other  buds  yields 
a  most  glorious  efflorescence  in  the  one  which  is  left.  Cur- 
tailment and  suppression  of  many  forces  results  in  the  con- 
centration and  strength  of  one.  Affliction  and  deformity 
have  often  borne  the  rarest  fruits  with  which  life  is  en- 
riched. 

Slippers,  an  easy  chair,  a  dressing  gown,  a  big  open  wood 
fire,  and  some  good  books  —  these  inside,  and  outside,  — a 
raw,  gusty,  November  day,  with  the  wind  chasing  the  fallen 
wet  leaves  across  the  bleak  stretches  of  lawn  and  meadow, 
catching  them,  anon,  and  whirling  them  in  mad  gyrations 
till  they  fall  breathless  in  the  thickets  and  fence  corners. 
And  then  for  a  day  of  solid  comfort  and  enjoyment.  From 
every  glance  out  of  the  window  we  turn  again  to  our  books 
and  fire  with  a  deeper  sense  of  our  good  cheer.  If  any 
other  chief  element  of  happiness  could  be  added  to  the  scene, 
perhaps  it  would  be  the  gracious  figure  of  a  sweet,  loving 


154  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

helpmate,  sitting  there  close  enough  that  a  look  into  her 
eyes,  and  pleasant  chat  —  the  mind's  recreation  —  may  be 
had  when  interest  grows  dull,  or  inspiration  tardy.  And 
let  the  hair  of  this  gracious  presence  be  fair  and  her  eyes 
blue.  The  hair  may  be  to  us  the  summer's  golden  sun- 
shine ;  and  her  eyes  April's  violets.  There  let  her  sit  with 
book  or  needle-work,  diffusing,  like  a  goddess,  the  radiance 
of  home  happiness  about  her.  This  last  addition  will  give 
practical  joy  and  concrete  philosophy  to  the  picture. 
Books  are  good  enough  company  as  a  rule,  but  there  comes  a 
time  in  every  man's  life  when  he  wants  to  feel  a  little  soft 
warm  hand  in  his  ;  when  he  wants  to  look  into  a  pair  of  eyes 
eloquent  with  love's  mysteries,  and  read  there  things  more 
deep  and  true  than  any  book  can  ever  contain.  It  is  well 
enough  to  grapple  with  the  abstrusities  of  abstract  sciences 
when  one  feels  strong  in  the  pride  of  masculine  intellect,  yet 
sometimes  the  highest  wisdom  of  man  can  do  no  more  than 
acknowledge  its  limitations,  and  throw  itself  into  the  arms 
of  woman's  love.  Her  presence  there  would  answer  many 
problems  we  encountered  in  our  meditation  and  reading. 
Or  if  they  were  not  answered  according  to  logic,  they  would 
at  least  be  solved  according  to  feeling  and  faith,  which  were 
better.  Her  presence  would  remove  the  cause  of  our  vain 
questionings,  and  allay  the  fruitless  strivings  of  the  mind. 
How  the  Grordian  knot  of  Kant's  metaphysics  or  Spencer's 
philosophy  would  be  cut  when  we  put  out  our  arm  and  drew 
the  golden  head  to  our  shoulder  and  felt  the  soft  cheek 
against  ours.  Every  pressure  of  hand  in  hand  would  be  a 
disentanglement  of  eternal  mysteries.  Love,  if  we  know 
how  to  interpret  it,  can  answer  every  question  Philosophy 


NOVEMBER.  155 

ever  asked.  The  mind  weaves  a  net  around  itself  from 
which  it  can  be  released  only  by  the  heart.  Books  can  en- 
tertain ;  books  can  ask  questions ;  but  the  riddles  of  life 
must  be  lived  and  loved  out.  She,  sitting  there,  will  be  an 
encyclopaedia  of  the  mysteries  of  human  existence ;  and  if 
she  answers  the  questions  of  the  soul  with  a  smile  or  a  kiss, 
does  it  not  suffice  ?  Is  there  aught  more  to  be  said  ? 

For  minor  touches  to  the  picture,  completing  its  impres- 
sion of  solid  comfort  and  genial  surroundings,  let  a  big  dog 
be  slumbering  on  the  rug  before  the  fire.  Not  a  small  dog 
or  cat ;  not  only  do  these  lack  dignity,  but  there  is  some- 
thing about  them  which  would  not  comport  and  harmonize 
well  with  the  general  tone  of  the  room.  A  small  dog  always 
suggests  sinallness,  whether  it  be  of  mind,  purse  or  heart. 
The  querulous  little  busy-body  is  out  of  place  among  the 
grander  magnitudes.  So,  a  cat  would  be  an  incongruity  in 
the  tout  ensemble.  A  cat,  some  one  has  said,  always  hints 
of  mice,  fleas  and  jealousy.  Tabby,  therefore,  were  better 
ostracised  with  her  unpleasant  feline  suggestiveness,  while 
the  large  canine  will  be  left  to  slumber  on  in  his  strength  and 
majesty.  Lying  there  by  the  hearth,  he  is  nature  tamed, 
but  unreconstructed.  He  brings  the  stolid  hardihood  and 
the  wild  unbending  individuality  of  the  woods-into  the  refined 
and  artificial  conventionalities  of  modern  human  life.  There 
is  a  sturdy,  unchangeable  majesty  of  character  about  him, 
which  will  induce  force  and  freshness  of  thought  that  is 
centered  upon  him. 

Meantime,  we  will  browse  awhile  among  the  books.  Ran- 
dom reading,  and  rhapsodical  writing — a  nibble  of  Shaks- 
pere  here  —  a  taste  of  Addison  there  —  a  bite  of  Spencer 


156  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

over  yonder,  —  now  a  hasty  scribble  of  some  illusory  thought 
caught  from  the  flash  of  the  masters'  genius  ;  and  then  an 
intermission  of  fire-gazing  and  drifting  on  the  tide  of  unre- 
stricted thought.  Next  a  little  chat  with  Vesta,  or  per- 
chance, some  love-making.  Such  is  an  ideal  way  to  spend 
the  drear  November  days. 

On  dark  days  it  seems  most  appropriate  and  most  enjoy- 
able to  delve  in  the  old  authors.  There  is  a  fresh  and  racy 
flavor  about  them  —  a  mellowness  —  which  like  rare  old  wine, 
we  should  reserve  till  we  need  it  most  when  the  sun  is  gone 
and  the  earth  is  bleak  and  cold.  Rainy  days  are  the  holi- 
days of  the  mind ;  at  such  times  it  is  meet  to  get  on  a  frolic 
with  the  old  writers.  And  jolly  good  company  they  are, 
with  their  ruffs  and  small  clothes,  their  periwigs  and  powder, 
their  knee  buckles  and  snuff  boxes.  And  a  ready  sentiment 
they  have  for  your  mood  no  matter  what  it  may  be.  If 
Herrick  give  us  a  lyric,  we  can  stand  the  lack  of  sunshine ; 
if  Fielding  or  Richardson  will  tell  a  tale,  we  will  not  likely 
suffer  with  ennui ;  and  even  though  the  weather  is  forbid- 
ding, there  is  no  reason  why  we  should  not  go  on  a  tramp 
through  Arden  Forest  with  Will  Shakspere.  Or,  perhaps, 
wheezy  old  Dr.  Johnson  will  amuse  us  for  awhile  by  scold- 
ing Bos  well  or  satirizing  every  thing  he  can  think  of.  If 
this  weary  us,  and  we  find  Arden  Forest  not  to  our  taste, 
we  might  step  into  The  Boar's  Head  Tavern  and  take  a 
bumper  or  two  of  rich,  old  English  ale  from  the  hands  of 
good  Dame  Quickly.  Here,  surely,  there  will  be  convivial- 
ity enough  to  put  all  pessimistic  ideas  to  route ;  for  East- 
cheap,  as  old  Stow  says,  "  was  always  famous  for  its 
convivial  doings.  The  cookes  cried  hot  ribbes  of  beef 


NOVEMBER.  157 

roasted,  pies  well  baked,  and  other  victuals ;  there  was 
clattering  of  pewter  pots,  harpe,  pipe,  and  sawtrie." 
"  Corydon's  Doleful  Knell"  may  be  appropriate  after  the 
effects  of  the  ale  wear  off,  and  then  what  better  than  a 
stroll  with  dear  old  Izaak  Walton,  with  rod  and  tackle, 
where,  as  Alex.  Smith  says,  "  the  streams  trot  through  the 
soft  green  meadows."  When  we  have  caught  enough  fish, 
Markham,  with  his  "  Country  Contentments,"  may  tell  us 
what  next  to  do,  unless  Carewor  Suckling  in  their  inimitable 
way  will  sing  us  an  old-time  ballad  or  melody.  If  these  be 
not  to  our  taste,  Sir  Thomas  Cockayne's  "  Tretyse  of 
Hunting  "  may  take  us  further  into  the  fields  and  woods 
with  hawk  and  hound,  or  we  might  relish  quaint  old  Peacham 
with  his  "  Complete  Gentleman,"  telling  us  the  niceties  of 
social  etiquette  and  the  proprieties  of  refined  conduct  in  all 
matters  relative  to  respectable  living. 

As  the  sun  goes  down  the  winds  are  lulled,  the  clouds 
break  in  the  west,  and  the  effulgent  splendor  of  an  autumn 
sunset  glows  red  and  golden  behind  the  woods.  It  is  like 
the  last  scene  of  a  beautiful  tableau  :  the  rich  but  subdued 
lights  illume  the  cheerless  landscape,  magically  transform- 
ing it  into  picturesque  beauty.  The  gaunt  trees  stand  out 
bold  and  rugged  against  the  brightening  sky  with  a  rough 
but  graphic  grace.  Draw  the  blinds :  light  the  lamp :  stir 
the  fire,  and  put  on  another  big  log.  Take  down  the  books 
you  love  best,  the  abiding  friends  of  the  ages,  and  let  the 
hours  till  bed-time  be  spent  in  the  companionship  of  the 
Great.  For  the  lingering  charm  of  the  long  winter  evening 
has  come  with  the  late  November  days. 


158  STUBS    OF    TIME. 


MISTRESS   CARRINGTON   OF  VIRGINIA. 

The  South  lost  millions  of  dollars  by  the  abolition  of 
slavery,  but  its  greatest  loss  has  been  the  passing  away  of 
those  high  and  noble  phases  of  southern  life  whose  existence 
the  institution  of  slavery  made  possible. 

The  war  came  as  a  fell  blow  upon  southern  life  and  cus- 
toms, crushing,  demolishing,  changing  forever.  It  swept 
away  the  conditions  under  which  those  types  of  southern 
chivalry,  high,  honorable  manhood,  true,  refined,  and  cul- 
tured womanhood,  generated,  grew,  and  flourished.  The 
war  with  its  cannon  balls  and  bullets,  its  fire,  its  blood, 
harvest  of  death,  and  devastation  meant  more  than  the  free- 
dom of  the  negro  —  more  than  the  preservation  of  the  Union  ; 
it  also  marked  the  commencement  of  a  period  of  painful 
and  labored  transition  in  a  large  part  of  the  national  life.  It 
meant  the  advance  and  ultimate  establishment  of  commer- 
cialism where  formerly  sentiments  of  chivalry,  honor,  high 
ideals,  broad-hearted  generosity,  and  gracious  hospitality 
obtained ;  it  necessitated  a  change  in  a  people's  ideals ;  an 
extinction  of  certain  modes  of  their  life,  and  an  overthrow 
of  their  customs  and  traditions. 

Under  the  institution  of  slavery,  there  grew  up  in  certain 
portions  of  the  South  a  form  of  aristocracy  which  in  many 
aspects  has  been  unequaled  in  the  history  of  the  world. 


HAD  TAKEN  DOWN  THE  GUN  OP  HIS  FORKFATHERS. 


MISTRESS    CARRINGTON    OF    VIRGINIA.  159 

Far  greater  wealth  there  is,  and  has  been  —  greater  ease, 
greater  luxury,  greater  pomp  and  ostentation.  But  for 
real  gentility  and  elegance  of  living,  genuine  graciousness 
of  heart  and  hospitality  ;  for  chivalry  and  gallantry ;  for 
refinement,  polish  and  culture ;  for  integrity  of  character, 
and  for  the  sterling,  unassuming  virtues  of  home  life,  the 
antebellum  South  has  probably  never  been  excelled  in  the 
world,  certainly  not  in  America. 

I  remember  it  was  in  the  latter  fifties  that  I  went  to  spend 
the  Christmas  with  Colonel  John  Byrd  Carrington  at  his 
home,  Huntington  Hall,  on  the  Mattapony  river  in  tide- 
water Virginia.  My  father,  Macon  Cotesworth,  whose  name 
I  bear,  was  a  cotton  planter  of  South  Carolina,  and  he  and 
the  Colonel,  while  at  the  University  of  Virginia  together,  had 
been  great  friends  and  chums.  My  father  always  cherished 
a  great  love  for  his  Alma  Mater,  and  in  his  will  he  directed 
that  I,  when  arrived  at  a  proper  age,  should  be  sent  there 
to  complete  my  education.  And  my  mother,  upon  .whom 
fell  the  management  of  the  estate,  true  to  the  wishes  of  her 
dear  husband  —  and  ever  ready  to  indulge  her  children  in 
all  that  was  right  —  for  I,  too,  from  my  early  teens,  was 
ambitious  to  become  a  student  at  that  noble  institution 
founded  by  Jefferson  — as  soon  as  I  was  of  sufficient  years, 
sent  me  to  the  University  of  Virginia. 

Colonel  Carrington,  having  seen  my  name  in  the  cata- 
logue, wrote  to  me,  asking  if  I  were  not  the  son  of  his  old 
friend  of  Clinton  Mount  in  South  Carolina.  Upon  my  re- 
plying that  I  was,  I  received  a  most  cordial  letter  from  the 
Colonel,  asking  me  that  I  spend  the  coming  Christmas  at  his 
home ;  that  the  partridge  shooting  was  excellent,  and  he 


160  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

had  two  fine  Irish  setters;  that  the  fall  apple  crop  had  been 
unusually  good,  and  the  annual  output  of  apple  brandy  was 
greater  in  amount,  and  better  in  flavor  than  he  had  known 
it  for  years.  Besides  this,  he  said  that  he  had  a  little  house- 
keeper who  could  make  very  drinkable  egguog ;  that  there 
was  a  likelihood  of  a  pretty  gay  Christmas  —  that  he  didn't 
take  the  interest  in  such  things  that  he  did  some  thirty 
years  back,  —  but  he  had  heard  rumors  of  several  parties 
and  frolics  in  the  neighborhood ;  that  there  was  a  very  good 
fiddler  among  his  own  negroes,  and  the  floor  of  his  main 
hall  was  always  well  waxed. 

He  also  went  on  to  say  that  one  of  the  negro  boys  on  the 
place  had  reported  the  discovery  of  a  big  bee-tree  down  in 
the  river  woods,  and  he  had  planned  to  cut  down,  and  take 
it  some  day  during  the  Christmas  holidays.  And  everything 
being  considered,  he  went  on  to  say,  he  thought  I  might 
manage,  if  I  were  anything  like  the  young  men  of  his  day, 
to  amuse  myself  for  awhile,  and  at  the  same  time  give  him 
the  pleasure  of  meeting  and  entertaining  the  son  and  name- 
sake of  his  dearest  old  college  friend. 

I  wrote  to  my  mother  enclosing  the  Colonel's  letter,  and 
asked  her  what  I  had  better  do.  She  replied  that  though  it 
would  be  a  great  disappointment  to  her  not  to  have  me  home 
Christmas ;  yet  she  thought  if  my  dear  father  was  living, 
that  he  would  like  above  all  things  for  me  to  meet  his  old 
friend,  and  go  to  his  house ;  that  she  did  not  want  to  be 
selfish ;  and  that  as  Colonel  Carrington,  she  believed,  was  a 
lonely  widower,  it  would  be  a  great  pleasure  to  him  to  have 
me  at  his  house ;  and  that  if  I  wanted  to,  she  thought  I 
had  better  go. 


MISTRESS    CARRINGTON    OF    VIRGINIA.  161 

My  mother  having  written  in  this  way,  and  the  Colonel's 
hinted  inducements  being  very  much  to  my  liking,  it  is 
needless  to  say  that  it  did  not  take  me  long  to  decide  what 
to  do.  Of  course  I  regretted  not  seeing  my  mother  at 
Christmas,  but  when  one  is  twenty,  the  months  have  wings, 
and  I  knew  the  rest  of  the  session  would  glide  away,  and  it 
would  not  be  long  before  commencement. 

A  day  or  two  before  Christmas,  having  packed  my  car- 
pet bag,  and  said  good-bye  and  a  merry  Christmas  to  the 
professors  and  all  my  friends,  I  went  to  the  Charlottesville 
station  and  took  the  train  for  the  Colonel's. 

At  the  station  all  was  bustle  and  confusion  and  jollity. 
Cheers,  and  good-byes,  and  halloos,  and  singing  could  be 
heard  on  all  sides.  Crowds  of  the  students  —  the  flower  of 
the  South  —  were  going  home  for  the  holidays  ;  and  most 
of  them,  like  myself,  were  in  great  spirits.  There,  among 
them,  were  sons  of  Louisiana  sugar  planters  —  tall,  lithe, 
and  handsome  brunettes,  their  dark,  expressive  eyes,  and 
general  appearance  bespeaking  a  strain  of  Creole  blood  in 
their  veins.  Some  of  them  were  accompanied  by  their 
negro  body-servant,  who,  besides  carrying  his  master's 
handbag  and  satchel,  carried  also,  in  several  instances,  I 
noticed,  his  guitar  or  banjo.  There,  too,  were  the  young 
representatives  of  many  stately  mansions  of  the  Georgia  and 
Alabama  cotton  plantations ;  also  sons  of  wealthy  and 
aristocratic  Virginia  planters  and  tobacco  growers ;  and 
even  two  tall,  fair,  big-limbed  young  giants  from  the  far 
west  blue  grass  regions  of  Kentucky.  These  latter  I  knew 
quite  well,  and  they  told  me  that  a  good  part  of  the  journey 
home  they  had  to  make  in  carriages  ;  but  they  didn't  mind 

11 


162  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

it  as  time  was  no  matter  to  them,  and  they  drove  their 
thoroughbreds  at  a  full  gallop.  They  were  fine  manly 
fellows,  never  so  much  at  home  as  when  on  a  horse. 
Though  somewhat  rough,  and  not  as  cultured  and  polished 
as  the  more  eastern  students,  they  had  a  hardy  independ- 
ence, and  certain  straightforward  freedom  of  speech  and 
bearing  that  was  quite  as  attractive.  They  were  rather 
wild  fellows,  sticking  together,  and  standing  by  each  other, 
and  had  given  the  Faculty  considerable  trouble  until  one  of 
them  fell  in  love  with  Professor  Rieves's  daughter,  and 
that  seemed  to  soften  and  civilize  him  so  he  wouldn't  join 
the  other  in  his  devilment;  and  thus  their  clique  was 
broken  up.  I  always  thought  that  Clara  Rieves  liked  him 
right  well,  too,  and  that  she,  fearing  he  might  be  expelled, 
exerted  all  her  influence  on  him  to  tame  him  down.  Still, 
I  never  was  certain  —  one  never  could  tell  —  Clara,  like 
most  of  the  University  girls,  was  such  a  sly  little  coquette, 
she  seemed  to  like  everybody :  she  could  pull  the  wool  over 
a  fellow's  eyes  in  five  minutes  and  make  him  think  she  liked 
him  best  of  all  on  earth.  There  were  probably  fifty  students 
in  college  who  would  have  sworn  to  their  last  drop  of  blood 
that  they  were  the  fortunate  possessor  of  Clara's  heart. 

These  two  young  Kentuckians,  true  to  the  traditions  of 
their  native  State,  not  infrequently  indulged  in  strong 
potations,  and  though  I  cannot  say  from  personal  knowl- 
edge, as  I  kept  company  with  carousers  very  little  myself, 
and  only  then  on  special  occasions  —  seldom  taking  anything 
but  my  gentlemanly  julep,  —  it  was  reputed  that  they,  after 
having  imbibed  more,  could  keep  a  clearer  head  and  steadier 
gait  than  any  of  the  students  in  college. 


MISTRESS    CARRINGTON    OF    VIRGINIA.  163 

I  shall  never  forget  the  spree  they  got  on  that  night  after 
the  intermediate  examination  in  Coke  upon  Littleton.  They 
were  both  studying  law  —  most  of  the  Kentuckians  did  in 
those  days  —  and  they  had  been  working  hard,  and  keeping 
themselves  close  for  some  weeks  previous,  preparing  for  the 
examination.  After  it  was  all  over,  they  thought  it  be- 
holden to  themselves  to  go  in  for  a  little  relaxation,  and 
they  did  to  an  extreme  degree.  Their  room  on  West  Range 
was  their  base  of  action,  and  there  they  collected  a  party  of 
comrades  with  tastes  and  feelings  congenial  to  their  own,  and 
organized  what,  in  those  days,  was  known  as  a  Calathump  ; 
being  nothing  more  than  a  body  of  masked  students  banded 
together  in  hilarious  disorder  for  purposes  of  midnight  mis- 
chief and  orgies.  Such  bauds  were  usually  more  or  less  under 
the  influence  of  reverent  liquors,  and  thus  were  actuated  by 
motives  of  dare-devil  glee  and  frolicsomeness.  They  were 
not  uncommon  in  those  days,  these  Calathumps,  coming 
almost  invariably  after  examinations,  and  being  much 
dreaded  by  the  professors.  For  it  was  not  infrequent  that 
these  gangs  forgot  themselves  as  young  gentlemen,  and 
went  too  far  in  their  boisterous,  boyish  mischief-making, 
and  became  very  disorderly  and  riotous.  Pistols  and  guns 
were  sometimes  fired  on  the  ranges  and  lawns,  and  stones 
were  thrown,  to  the  often  destruction  of  the  University 
lamps,  and  the imperilment  of  life  and  limb,  not  only  of  the 
casual  passer-by,  but  even  of  the  revellers  themselves. 
Jokes,  more  practical  and  provoking  than  humorous,  were 
frequently  committed.  The  poor  old  venerable  University 
clock  and  bell  being  the  never  failing  butts  of  these  tricks 
when  more  favorable  subjects  did  not  present  themselves. 


164  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

They  suffered  most  when  through  extreme  maudliness,  or 
for  other  reasons,  the  frolickers  were  unimaginative.  When 
minds  worked  well,  there  was  generally  something  more 
original  and  better  to  do  than  to  ring  the  bell,  or  steal  its 
tongue,  or  to  shoot  at  the  clock,  and  take  off  its  hands. 
Minds  pregnant  with  genius  and  ideas,  could  devise  and 
execute  something  more  startling —  more  sensational.  Then 
it  would  be  that  the  Chairman's  pet  riding  horse,  in  the  dim 
hours  of  the  night,  would  be  taken  from  his  stall,  shaved, 
and  painted  blue.  Or  the  fire  pump  might  be  brought  from 
its  house,  and  the  hose  having  been  applied,  a  professor's 
bell  would  be  rung ;  and  when  that  dignified  personage  in 
nightcap  and  dressing  gown  appeared  at  his  door  to  see  who 
was  the  midnight  visitor,  he  would  be  greeted  and  probably 
knocked  down  by  a  powerful  stream  of  ice-cold  water. 

On  one  occasion,  a  large  number  of  bee  hives  belonging 
to  an  unpopular  professor,  had  been  brought,  and  broken 
open,  and  left  at  their  owner's  door ;  after  the  honey,  with 
due  care  and  a  paint  brush  had  been  smeared  all  over  the 
doorknob,  the  door,  the  veranda  and  a  good  part  of  the  entire 
house  front. 

The  bees,  like  their  owner,  were  of  a  rather  irascible  na- 
ture, and  the  next  morning,  after  their  night  of  unrest  and 
violation,  were  in  no  compromising  mood,  but  swarmed  in 
enraged  multitudes  around  the  Professor's  house,  vindic- 
tively attacking  all  that  came  near. 

The  students,  at  a  safe  distance,  were  watching  and  waiting 
for  developments.  The  Professor  was  a  little  late  at  breakfast, 
and  having  finished,  he  hastily  took  up  his  book  and  notes, 
and  started  in  a  hurry  for  his  classroom.  With  his  mind 


MISTRESS    CARRINGTON    OF    VIRGINIA.  165 

deeply  immersed  in  the  metaphysics  of  the  day's  lecture,  he 
had  opened  and  closed  his  front  door,  and  was  half-way 
across  his  porch  before  he  realized  the  conditions,  and  before 
the  angry  insects  made  their  presence  known.  Then  the 
Professor,  dropping  his  books  and  papers,  made  a  frantic 
dash  back  to  his  door ;  but  the  latch  had  caught,  and  it  was 
no  time  to  ring  the  door-bell  or  use  his  key.  So  the  Pro- 
fessor dashed  out  of  the  porch,  clearing  the  steps  at  a  bound, 
and  rushed  out  on  the  lawn.  There,  for  some  moments,  he 
executed  a  series  of  wild  dances  and  gesticulations,  slapping 
furiously  at  the  bees  ;  and  finally,  seeing  the  near-by  base- 
ment door  of  Dr.  Peyton's  house  open,  he  rushed  madly 
through  it,  followed  by  a  stream  of  bees,  and  burst  in  on  the 
Peyton  famil}-  at  breakfast,  frightening  them  very  much  in- 
deed. For  by  this  time,  his  face  had  become  so  purple  and 
swollen  that  they  did  not  recognize  him,  but  thought  it  was 
some  desperate  crazy  person  intending  them  violence. 

There  was  no  lecture  in  metaphysics  that  day ;  and  even 
the  next  day,  while  the  Professor,  making  a  brave  effort, 
managed  to  occupy  his  accustomed  chair,  yet  his  face  was 
still  so  blotched,  puckered  and  swollen,  that  he  very  much 
resembled  a  clown,  and  he  found  great  difficulty  in  maintain- 
ing in  his  class  that  order  and  dignity  which  is  so  necessary 
a  prerequisite  to  the  proper  study  of  the  worthy  and  learned 
science  of  metaphysics. 

For  several  succeeding  days  the  Professor  and  his  family 
were  in  a  most  inconvenient  state  of  practical  quarantine, 
and  could  issue  from  their  house  ouh'  when  well  enveloped 
in  mosquito  netting.  It  was  a  source  of  much  amusement 
to  the  heedless  doers  of  this  mischief  to  watch  the  grave 


166  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

instructor  coming  out  of  his  house  all  wrapped  in  veiling  as 
a  bride.  The  smell  of  the  honey  about  the  house  attracted 
even  the  wild  bees  from  the  mountains,  some  of  which  latter, 
not  being  accustomed  to  persons  and  the  ways  of  mankind, 
were  disposed  to  be  even  more  vicious  than  those  that  were 
partly  domesticated,  and  they  resented  fiercely  any  interfer- 
ence of  their  business. 

At  last,  as  their  numbers  and  the  inconvenience  they 
caused  increased,  a  body  of  the  University  servants,  well 
protected  in  netting,  was  sent  to  combat  and  drive  them 
away  with  water  and  sulphur  fumes.  This  expedient  proved 
very  effective.  The  honey  was  washed  and  scoured  from  the 
Professor's  premises  and  the  bees  were  driven  away  to  return 
no  more. 

However,  I  believe  I  was  going  to  talk  about  that  big 
spree  those  two  young  scions  of  Kentucky  got  on.  As  I 
was  saying,  they  organized  a  Calathump,  and  their  first  evil 
deed  was  to  intercept  and  make  drunk  the  University  janitor 
who  happened  to  be  returning  at  a  late  hour  from  the  per- 
formance of  some  of  his  duties.  This  janitor,  Jefferson 
Martin,  was  quite  a  character —  and  a  respected  one  —  about 
the  University  in  those  days.  He  had  one  weakness,  how- 
ever, which  was  an  uncontrollable  love  for  strong  drink.  He 
had  belonged  to  Thomas  Jefferson,  and  was  born  on  the 
Monticello  Place.  He  remembered  his  old  master  very  well, 
.being  in  his  teens  when  that  great  man  died.  We  all  knew 
him  as  Unc'  Jeff,  and  would  often  get  him  to  recount  to  us 
his  recollections  of  Mr.  Jefferson.  He  was  very  aristocratic 
in  his  ideas,  and  proud  and  dignified  in  his  bearing ;  there 
was  a  certain  native  stateliness  about  him  which  commanded 


MISTRESS    CARRINGTON    OF    VIRGINIA.  167 

respect,  and  which  he  had  in  common  with  so  many  of  the 
old-time  darkies. 

To  me,  who  was  raised  among,  and  knew  so  well  the  negroes 
of  the  old  days  before  the  war,  and  loved  and  respected  many 
of  them,  it  is  a  sad  thing  to  contemplate  the  changes  that  have 
taken  place  in  their  characters  and  individuality  since  all  the 
rights  of  freedom  and  full  citizenship  have  been  given  them. 
I  would  not  have  slavery  again  ;  but  as  slaves,  it  seems  to 
me,  the  negro  occupied  a  sphere  which  was  more  in  accord- 
ance with  the  preordained  laws  of  the  universe.  He  can 
never  become  as  a  white  man  —  God  and  nature  have  de- 
creed otherwise  —  and  it  seems  to  me  that  slavery,  as  I  saw 
it,  suited  the  nature  of  the  negro,  and  he  was  happier  under 
it  than  he  has  ever  been  since.  His  nature  is  that  of  a 
child, — careless,  light-hearted,  improvident.  Under  slavery, 
he  was  guarded,  protected,  supported,  and  treated  as  a  child. 
My  father  never  bought  or  sold  a  slave  in  his  life,  and  it  was 
very  seldom  he  allowed  one  to  be  whipped  except  under  such 
circumstances  as  he  would  have  chastised  his  own  son. 

Very  few  of  them  are  left  now — these  old-time  types  of 
darkey.  We  will  find  them  here  and  there  in  isolated  spots 
of  the  South.  You  will  recognize  him  at  sight ;  he  haunts 
the  plantations  of  his  old  masters  ;  his  head  and  beard  are  as 
white  as  cotton ;  he  lives  in  his  cabin  with  his  helpmate,  as 
ancient,  as  proud,  as  sterling  and  respectable  as  himself. 
In  a  shuck-bottom  chair,  he  sits  before  his  door  in  the  sun- 
shine, and  smokes  in  a  corncob  pipe  tobacco  of  his  own 
gro wing,  while  he  muses  on  the  good  old  times.  On  the  side 
of  his  cabin,  there  hang  coon  and  rabbit  skins  and  long 
strings  of  red  pepper.  There  are  pumpkins,  beans,  and 


168  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

gourds  in  his  little  garden  ;  and  in  the  small  plat  before  the 
house  devoted  to  flowers,  there  are  sunflowers  and  some  old- 
fashioned  rose  and  calacanthus  bushes ;  some  blue  flags  and 
purple  zinnias.  He  probably  has  an  ox,  or,  perhaps,  a  dilap- 
idated old  horse  with  which  he  works  his  small  plantings 
and  makes  his  meagre  living.  He  believes  firmly  in  ghosts 
and  spirits,  in  "  conjering,"  and  in  the  efficacy  of  calamus 
root  and  various  herbs  and  simples  to  cure  sundry  ailments 
of  the  flesh.  If  there  is  a  church  or  college  near,  you  may 
be  sure  he  is  the  sexton  of  one,  or  the  janitor  of  the  other. 
Maybe,  too,  he  does  a  little  cobbling  for  the  neighborhood  or 
making  of  baskets  and  flagging  of  chairs. 

When  you  speak  to  him  he  will  address  you  as  ' '  Marsa  ' ' 
or  "  Misis,"  according  to  your  sex.  He  has  no  use  for  the 
generation  of  negroes  which  has  grown  up  "since  the  war. 
He  regards  them  as  affected  with  the  stigma  that  attached  to 
the  antebellum  "  free  nigger." 

"  Dey  ain't  got  no  sense,"  he  says,  "  and  ain'  fittin  fur 
nothin'  'cept  jail-birds.  Dey  gits  er  little  edgycation  in  de 
heads,  and  dey  think  dey  know  so  much  dey  won't  have  to 
wuk.  I  ain't  got  no  use  fur  'em  —  dey  ain't  got  no  man- 
ners, and  dey  ain'  'spectable,  and  dey's  lazy  and  good-fur- 
nothin',  and  you  can't  tell  um  nothin'  'cause  dey  think  dey 
know  it  already." 

Ask  him  if  he  has  been  happier  since  the  war,  and  he  will 
tell  you:  — "  Naw,  my  Gawd,  dat  I  ain't.  Fo'  de  war,  I 
had  somebody  to  take  keer  me,  and  worry  'bout  me,  and 
now  I  have  to  take  keer  and  worry  'bout  myse'f.  I  didn't 
worry  'bout  nothin'  fo'  de  war ;  I  had  to  wuk,  but  den  I 


MISTRESS    CARRINGTON    OF    VIRGINIA.  169 

knowed  when  de  wuk  was  done,  I  was  gwi'  git  plenty  to 
eat,  and  dat  Marsa  was  gwi'  look  af  me." 

Well,  as  I  was  saying,  the  Calathumpers  caught  Unc'  Jeff 
and  beguiled  him  with  their  libations.  Unc'  Jeff  would 
always  demur  a  little  to  taking  the  first  drink,  as  he  was 
fully  conscious  of  his  weakness,  but  after  the  first,  it  was 
easier  to  get  him  to  take  a  second,  —  still  easier  to  take  a 
third,  and  after  the  fourth,  the  demurring  ceased  altogether, 
and  he  became  ready  and  willing,  as  long  as  he  could  stand, 
to  take,  like  a  rat-hole,  all  that  was  poured  into  him. 

"  Y'all  ought  not  to 'tempter  ole  nigger  lek  me,  "he  would 
say,  —  "  I's  er  daicon  in  de  Chuch.  De  las'  time  you  gin 
me  some,  you  know  I  took  a  leetle  too  much,  and  some  of 
de  Elders  talked  'bout  turnin'  me  out  of  de  Chuch  fur  back- 
slidin'.  I  thanks  you,  young  marsters,  but  de  ole  man 
don'  b'lieve  he'll  take  any  to-night." 

"All  right,  Unc'  Jeff,"  the  merry-makers  would  say, 
"  we  are  very  sorry  you  don't  care  for  any,  —  we  thought 
perhaps  a  little  would  do  the  old  man  good  ;  but  of  course  if 
you  don't  want  any  we  won't  insist." 

Then  he  would  have  a  protracted  coughing  spell.  When 
he  recovered  his  breath,  he  would  say  in  a  feeble  voice :  — 

"  I's  much  o'bleeged  to  y' all  young  marsters,  (coughs) 
but  I  don'  reggin  I'll  take  any  (coughs).  Hit  smell  mighty 
good,  doh,  and  I  spec  twould  loosen  up  dis  cough  (coughs)  ; 
and  I  had  de  misery  in  my  side  all  day :  I  spec  'twould  do 
dat  good,  too  ;  and  it  always  do  hep  my  rheumatiz.  If  you 
jes  po'  me  out  a  leetle  tech  un  it  —  jes  'nough  to  loosen  up 
dis  cough,  I  b'lieve  I'll  try  it." 

I  regret  to  say  it,  but  it  was  a  favorite  thing  for  some  of 


170  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

the  wilder  students  in  college  to  do —  this  intoxicating  of 
Uncle  Jeff.  There  was  some  reason  for  it,  for  the  old  darkey 
was  certainly  very  amusing  and  entertaining  when  partially 
inebriated ;  but  of  course  this  did  not  justify  such  scape- 
goat misdoings.  Ordinarily,  while  sober,  Uncle  Jeff  was 
dignified,  not  very  talkative,  very  courteous,  and  rather 
philosophic.  But  give  him  drink,  and  he  passed  through  a 
series  of  interesting  changes  of  temperament.  The  stu- 
dents knew  and  recognized  three  distinct  stages  of  his 
intoxication. 

There  was,  first,  the  talkative  stage,  which  he  entered 
after  three  or  four  drinks,  and  which  was  very  interesting  to 
us  students,  as  then  he  would  tell  us  of  the  experiences  of 
his  early  youth  and  young  manhood,  and  of  his  recollec- 
tions about  Mr.  Jefferson,  and  the  old  days  at  Montecello. 
He  always  apotheosized  Mr.  Jefferson ,  whom  he  ranked  next 
to  "  Ole  Marster  in  Hebben,  de  Lawd  hissef." 

"  Yas  Lawd,"  I  remember  hearing  him  say,"  I  done 
black  Marse  Tom's  shoes  mo'  times  dan  I  kin  count — dat 
I  is." 

Uncle  Jeff's  next  stage,  after  some  half-dozen  drinks,  was 
the  oratorical  period.  In  this,  he  always  manifested  a  tend- 
ency to  get  up  on  some  high  perch,  and  straighten  up  and 
throw  his  shoulders  back.  He  had  heard  Henry  Clay  speak 
some  years  before  in  one  of  the  presidential  campaigns,  and 
he  was  the  exemplar  of  Uncle  Jeff's  oratorical  efforts. 

"  Ladies  and  gentmuns,  len'  me  yo'  yers,"  he  would  say, 
which  was  generally  as  far  as  he  got  before  he  asked  for 
another  drink.  "  Hoi'  on,  gimme  one  mo',  and  I'll  show 
you  de  way  Marse  Hinry  Clay  done.  Marse  Hinry,  he 


MISTRESS    CARRINGTON    OF    VIRGINIA.  171 

started  out  jes  in  datway;  he  started  out  kinder  quiet, 
soft  and  sweet  lek,  but  in  er  little  while,  he  riz  up  and 
got  louder,  an'  hit  'peared  lek  dyar  was  suppin  in  him  whar 
was  gwi  buss  him  open  if  he  didn't  let  it  out.  But  he  riz 
higher,  and  he  let  it  out  so  fas'  and  smooth  and  sweet  lek, 
dat  it  come  nearer  to  bustin  de  crowd  open  dan  it  did  him. 
He  put  me  in  min'  of  er  gre't  barr'l  of  syrup  'lasses  all 
bubblin  an'  bilin'  over,  gettin'  hotter  and  mo'  bubbly  all  de 
time,  till  its  most  singin'  and  you  spec  it  every  minute  to 
bile  clean  over  and  sweep  you  'way  on  er  sweet  roarin' 
flood.  Yas,  Lawd,  —  I  didn't  understan'  much  un  it,  but 
I  could  jes  feel  'twas  gran'.  Dyar  was  suppin  'bout  it  dat 
made  me  feel  kinder  skeered  and  happy.  Dyar  was  suppin 
in  his  viece  dat  sounded  lek  thunder  and  pretty  music  all 
mixed  up  togedder  till  you  couldn't  tell  which  was  on  top." 

Having  delivered  himself  of  his  afflatus  of  eloquence,  if 
the  drinks  were  still  supplied,  Uncle  Jeff  entered  into  his 
third  stage  of  drunkenness.  This  was  one  of  song  and 
merriment — the  highwater  mark  of  his  intoxication,  be- 
fore he  lapsed  into  drowsy  stupor.  Now  he  would  sing  at 
the  top  of  his  voice  all  the  old  darkey  songs  and  ballads 
which  he  had  heard  and  learned  in  childhood.  With  a  wild, 
though  often  not  unmusical  cadence,  he  would  render  the 
negro  melodies  of  harvest  and  corn-shucking  times,  and 
occasionally,  too,  would  give  a  weird  chant  such  as  they 
sang  at  negro  revivals. 

The  singing  would  gradually  subside,  becoming  less 
spirited,  then  broken  and  incoherent;  finally  ceasing  alto- 
gether. Then  he  was  ready  to  drop  over  anywhere ;  and 


172  STUBS    OF   TIME. 

the  students  would  take  charge  of  him  to  see  that  he  came 
to  no  hurt. 

The  young  Kentuckians  at  the  head  of  the  Calathump, 
having  put  Uncle  Jeff  to  bed,  after  seeing  him  through  his 
several  stages,  next  went  and  caught  a  cow,  and  tied  her 
with  a  long  rope  to  Professor  Beverley's  doorbell. 

Professor  Beverley  was  a  fractious  old  bachelor  of  a 
very  hasty  temper,  who  in  dealing  with  mischievous  stu- 
dents, never  knew  how  to  exercise  the  smallest  degree  of 
tact  or  diplomacy ;  but  when  pranks  were  played  on  him , 
would  fly  off  into  a  towering  rage,  which  seldom  did  any- 
thing but  make  him  ridiculous,  and  the  students  more 
disposed  to  practice  their  tricks  on  him. 

He  had  been  very  much  irritated  and  annoyed  for  some 
time  past  by  having  his  doorbell  rung  at  all  hours  of  the 
night,  and  stones  thrown  at  his  house,  and  squalling  cats 
tied  to  a  pole  and  thrust  up  at  his  window.  This  sort  of  a 
thing  had  put  him  in  a  state  of  chronic  ill-temper ;  and  a 
few  days  since,  after  a  night  of  perturbance,  he  had  got  up 
before  his  class  in  high  dudgeon  and  told  them  that  he  had 
endured,  and  beseeched,  and  reproved  long  enough ;  that 
now  he  was  going  to  warn.  He  told  them  that  he  had  taken 
down  from  its  rack  in  the  hall  the  musket  of  his  forefathers, 
and  had  loaded  it  with  bird-shot ;  and  intended  to  discharge 
it  point-blank  at  the  next  midnight  molester  of  his  premises 
and  disturber  of  his  rest. 

On  the  night  of  which  we  speak,  the  Professor  being 
awakened  by  the  spasmodic  ringing  of  his  bell,  true  to  his 
word,  and  muttering  imprecations  against  the  whole  race  of 
students,  shuffled  out  of  bed,  and  took  down  his  trusty 


MISTRESS    CARRINGTON    OF    VIRGINIA.  173 

flintlock.  Noiselessly,  with  gun  in  hand  all  cocked  and 
primed,  he  stole  through  his  hall,  and  opening  the  outer 
door  peered  out  into  the  darkness.  The  bell  hadn't  rung 
since  he  got  out  of  bed,  but  now  as  he  stood  there,  on  the 
alert  for  sight  and  sound  such  as  would  locate  the  target  for 
his  load,  the  innocent  cow,  peacefully  grazing,  again  drew 
the  rope  taut,  and  the  bell  jingled.  Gnashing  his  teeth  in 
rage,  and  yet  feeling  exultant,  now  that  he  thought  his  ven- 
geance would  fall  upon  the  wicked  doers,  the  Professor  put 
out  his  hand,  and  started  to  follow  the  rope.  Crouching 
low,  he  stealthily  crept  on  until  he  could  just  see  the  dark, 
unrecognizable  figure  of  the  cow  moving  before  him.  "  Halt ! 
or  I'll  fire,"  he  shouted,  but  there  was  no  reply.  "  Halt! 
who  goes  there?  —  speak,  or  I'll  shoot,"  he  said  again.  But 
still  no  answer.  Meantime,  the  cow,  hearing  these  savage 
tones,  and  seeing  the  nondescript  figure  approaching,  became 
alarmed,  and  started  to  run,  ringing  the  bell  violently  again. 
This  apparent  contempt  and  boldness  was  too  much  for  the 
Professor,  and,  in  great  anger,  he  raised  his  gun,  and  fired. 
The  shot  took  effect  in  the  cow's  flanks,  wounding  her 
severely,  but  not  seriously.  In  Jier  pain  and  fright  she 
broke  the  rope  and  dashed  away  down  the  lawn  and  disap- 
peared. Nor  did  the  Professor  know  of  his  blunder  until 
the  next  day,  when  a  warrant  was  served  on  him  by  the 
owner  of  the  cow  for  the  willful  and  reckless  shooting  of  his 
animal :  and  the  frightful  rage  of  the  Professor  was  not  les- 
sened by  the  fact  that  the  case  went  against  him,  and  he 
had  to  pay  the  man  a  goodly  sum  in  damages. 


174  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

II. 

Before  I  digressed,  however,  (we  old  men  do  30  love  to 
reminisce  and  ramble)  I  was  saying  that  I  took  the  train  at 
Charlottesville  for  Colonel  Carrington's  depot,  White  Hall. 

It  was  a  gay  lot  on  the  train  that  day,  and  we  had  sing- 
ing, and  playing  of  the  violin,  banjo,  and  guitar,  all  the  way 
down.  Out  through  the  beautiful  foot-hills  of  Albermarle 
we  sped,  —  the  foot-hills  that  were  now  not  so  blue  as  usual, 
as  snow  to  the  depth  of  several  inches  lay  on  the  ground. 
Then,  on  to  the  rich  and  fertile  Piedmont  section  of 
Virginia. 

At  no  station  did  we  leave  the  people  in  doubt  as  to  who 
was  passing.  We  made  noise  enough  to  let  all  the  country- 
side know  that  the  University  students  were  going  home  for 
Christmas.  Of  course,  to  one  at  my  time  of  life,  all  that 
looks  childish  now,  but  I  remember  how  I  enjoyed  it  then : 
I  remember  how  we  flirted,  and  smiled,  and  threw  kisses  at 
all  the  pretty  girls  we  saw  at  the  wayside  stations.  And 
they  took  it  well  too,  for  everybody  was  in  a  holiday  spirit, 
and  would  smile  back  and  wave  their  kerchiefs  at  us. 

Toward  sundown,  the  train  stopped  at  White  Hall,  and 
taking  up  my  baggage,  I  bid  adieu  to  those  of  my  friends 
who  were  aboard  the  train,  and  stepped  off. 

I  had  barely  gotten  on  the  ground,  when  a  very  black 
young  darkey  came  up,  and  removing  his  cap,  and  bowing 
low,  said :  — 

"  Is  dis  de  young  Marsa  f'om  de  Vusity,  whar's  gwine  to 
Marse  John  Carrington's?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  answered,  "  I  am  Mr.  Macon  Cotesworth." 


MISTRESS    CARRINGTON    OF    VIRGINIA.  175 

"Dat's  de  name,  Marsa,"  he  said,  "I  fergot  to  'member 
it,  but  dat's  de  name.  My  name  is  Junius,  and  I's  Marse 
John's  kerredge  driver,  and  I  done  come  af '  you ;  hyah's 
de  kerredge  with  Buck  and  Nell,  over  hyah." 

He  took  my  carpet  bag,  and  conducted  me  to  the  vehicle, 
a  cumbersome,  but  cosy  rockaway  or  coach,  which  was  in 
general  use  among  the  best  Southern  families  in  those  days. 

It  was  a  drive  of  some  ten  miles  to  Huntington  Hall,  a 
good  part  of  the  way  being  in  full  sight  of  the  meandering 
and  picturesque  Mattapony.  Its  snow-covered  marshes 
and  flocks  of  wild  ducks,  its  wildernesses  of  purple  gum 
trees,  and  its  floating  ice,  were  all  objects  of  interest  to  me, 
who  was  accustomed  to  a  more  southern  landscape. 

Junius,  with  a  little  encouragement,  proved  very  talka- 
tive, and  narrated  in  his  rough,  but  graphic,  style,  some 
very  interesting  episodes  of  his  adventures  as  a  'coon  and 
'possum  hunter.  With  a  little  leading,  I  got  him  to  talk 
on  spirits,  and  "evils,"  and  "  Jack-rnah-lanterns,"  and  of 
the  various  negro  superstitions. 

Wishing  to  know  something  more  about  my  host,  and  the 
place  I  was  visiting,  I  discreetly  questioned  him  concerning 
the  general  life  and  habits  of  his  master  —  whether  he  had 
any  family,  and  so  on. 

"  He  ain'  got  no  fambly,"  Junius  said,  "  'ceptin  he  one 
daughter,  Miss  Anna,  whar  lives  wid  him,  and  do  de  house- 
keepin'.  She's  a  case  too,  Miss  Anna  is,  she  ain't  feered  o' 
nothiu',  and  kin  manage  anything  f'om  er  wild  horse,  clean 
up  to  Marse  John  hissef." 

"Ah,"  I  thought  to  myself,  "  she  must  be  the  little 
housekeeper  the  Colonel  wrote  me  of  that  could  make  the 


176  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

good  eggnog."  And  aloud:  —  "  She's  all  the  family  the 
Colonel  has,  is  she?  " 

"  Yas,  young  Marsa,  she  is  all.  Ole  Miss  been  died  years 
ago,  and  Marse  John  got  er  housekeeper  and  er  teacher 
fur  Miss  Anna  fur  awhile  ;  but  now  she  done  growed  so,  he 
done  let  dem  go,  and  Miss  Anna  do  de  housekeeping  and 
Marse  John  he  do  teach  her  hissef .  Some  folks  say  dat  dey 
spec  Marse  John  was  gwi'  git  rnerried  ergin  ;  but  my  pappy, 
Zack,  whar  is  de  butler,  he  heered  Marse  John  hissef  tell 
Dr.  Waller  one  day  while  dey  was  a-drinkin'  dyar  juleps, 
dat  he  didn't  never  spec  to  git  merried  long  as  he  had  Miss 
Anna  wid  him :  dat  he  didn't  hev  but  one  heart,  and  dat 
he  had  done  gin  dat  to  his  chile  wid  all  de  love  'twould  hoi'  ; 
and  he  wanted  her  to  keep  it  widout  havin'  to  'vide  it  wid 
no  stepmother.  Miss  Anna,  she  de  very  bref  of  life  of 
Marse  John." 

"  How  old  is  she,  Junius?  " 

"  Somewhargwine  on  eighteen  or  nineteen,  I  reggin,  suh." 

' '  And  pretty  is  she  ? ' ' 

"  Lawd  Marsa,  dat  she  is — de  prettiest  thing  you  ever 
seed.  She  always  put  me  in  min'  of  dat  angel  on  de  Chris- 
mus  cyard  whar  Marse  John  gin  Mammy.  She's  jes  lovely,  — 
hit  wouldn't  s'prise  me  to  see  de  white  wings  come  a- 
sproutin'  f'om  her  shoulders  anytime.  Naw,  suh,  dat 
'twouldn't.  She  got  er  face  what  look  lek  it  ain'  never 
made  up  its  min'  whether  it  gwi'  to  be  er  snowdrap  or  er 
peach  blossom  ;  and  her  eyes  is  jes  swimmin'  in  glory." 

This  was  getting  interesting ;  and  I  felt  my  heart  beat  a 
stroke  or  two  faster  as  I  heard  this  striking  description  of 
young  Mies  Carrington's  charms. 


MISTRESS    CARRINGTON    OF    VIRGINIA.  177 

I  found  myself  wondering  if  my  shoes  were  well  cleaned, 
and  if  the  part  in  my  hair  had  become  obliterated  during  the 
careless  trip  down.  I  regretted  that  I  had  not  put  on  my 
best  silk  stock,  and  my  vest  with  the  embroidered  flowers 
on  it. 

The  evening  was  cold ;  the  snow  lay  white  on  the  fields, 
and  though  in  the  road  it  had  been  trodden  down  and 
packed,  as  night  fell,  and  the  cold  increased,  it  became 
slippery,  and  Junius  had  to  exercise  care  in  guiding  Buck 
and  Nell.  They  were  well  shod,  but  the  crusty  snow,  and 
flinty  ice  in  the  small  pools  were  apt  to  cut  their  ankles, 
making  it  necessary  that  we  go  at  no  great  speed.  The 
horses  were  spirited,  but  Junius  seemed  to  have  them  under 
perfect  control.  He  would  speak  to  them  as  he  would  to  a 
child,  coaxiug,  reproving,  and  exhorting,  and  even  appeal- 
ing to  their  conscience  and  sense  of  reason. 

"  Now,  Buck,"  he  would  say,  "  whyncher  draw  dat  trace 
tighter?  You  know  you  ain'  doin'  yo'  sheer;  you  lettin' 
Nell  do  mos'  of  de  pullin' ;  you  ought  not  to  'pose  on  wim- 
min  folks  lek  dat  —  ain't  you  'shamed  of  yo'  sef.  Hit's 
gittiii'  late,  and  Marse  John  will  be  waitin'  supper,  and  gittin' 
uneasy  'bout  us  prezny." 

In  spite  of  my  warm  overcoat  and  the  Colonel's  buffalo 
robes,  I  was  getting  cold,  and  as  we  turned  from  the  main 
road  and  rattled  across  a  bridge,  I  was  glad  to  see  the  lights 
of  Huntingtou  Hall  gleaming  some  several  hundred  yards 
ahead. 

The  road  into  the  farm  was  free  from  ice  and  snow,  and 
the  horses  spurred  up,  and  we  covered  the  intervening  dis- 
tance at  a  lively  gait,  drawing  up  in  a  little  while  at  the  big 

12 


178  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

gate  that  opened  into  the  lawn.  Several  small  negroes, 
having  heard  us  coming,  had  ran  out  to  open  the  gate,  and 
in  the  darkness,  we  could  make  out  their  dim  figures  standing 
there. 

As  we  drove  up  the  hill,  I  saw  the  big  hall  door  open  ;  a 
dog  barked ;  and  there  seemed  to  be  some  bustle ;  then 
several  figures  came  out,  some  of  them  bearing  lanterns. 
They  came  down  the  gravelel  walk  to  the  yard  gate,  and 
met  me  as  I  stepped  out. 

It  was  Colonel  Carrington  and  some  of  his  servants.  The 
Colonel  came  up  to  me,  and  pressing  my  hand  warmly,  gave 
me  a  most  cordial  greeting  and  welcome  to  his  house.  He 
put  his  hand  on  my  shoulder,  and  we  walked  to  the  house 
together. 

"  I  am  so  glad  you  have  come,"  he  said,  "  and  it  was  so 
good  of  you.  Your  voice  is  exactly  like  your  dear  father's. 
Come  into  the  light,  and  let  me  see  if  you  look  like  him 
too." 

He  led  me  into  the  library  and  sitting-room,  where  in  the 
wide  fireplace  a  great  ruddy  fire  of  logs  crackled  and  roared 
up  the  chimney,  throwing  a  glorious  warmth  into  the  room. 
There  were  a  big  brass  fender  and  andirons,  warm  rugs  and 
great,  cosy,  easy-chairs,  and  a  general  aspect  of  sterling 
comfort  about  the  room,  which  was  enough  to  delight  the 
heart  of  a  chilled  traveler. 

"This  is  my  little  daughter,  Anna,"  said  the  Colonel, 
presenting  a  beautiful  young  girl  to  me.  She  was  standing 
poking  the  fire  as  we  entered,  and  now  came  forward  to 
greet  us.  I  bowed  with  dignity,  the  young  lady  bowed  too  ; 
and,  then,  as  though  on  second  thought,  extended  her  hand 


MISTRESS    CARRINGTON    OF    VIRGINIA.  179 

rather  awkwardly,  and  I  thought  I  saw  the  color  deepen  in 
her  cheeks,  but  I  was  not  sure. 

I  was  surprised  that  the  Colonel  should  introduce  her  as 
"  my  little  daughter,"  for  she  was  evidently  but  a  year  or 
two  younger  than  myself,  — and  I  thought  that  I  was  a  very 
much  grown-up  man.  But  I  found  out  afterwards  that  the 
Colonel  had  never  realized  that  his  daughter  had  become  a 
young  woman  ;  and  that  he  still  looked  upon  her  as  a  mere 
child. 

We  drew  our  chairs  up  before  the  fire : 

"  Get  close,  Macon,"  the  Colonel  said,  "  and  warm  your 
fingers  and  toes ;  the  air  is  nipping  and  frosty  to-night — 
only  ten  above  zero  by  my  thermometer  out  in  the  porch  — 
and  you  must  be  cold.  You  must  excuse  me  for  calling  you 
Macon,  for  I  can't  call  the  boy  of  my  old  chum,  'Mr.' 
Warm  yourself  good,  boy,  and  presently  we'll  take  a  little 
apple  brandy  to  warm  the  inner  man.  You  need  it  after 
your  long  cold  drive.  My  child,"  he  continued,  turning 
toward  his  daughter,  "  tell  Zack  to  bring  up  the  decanters 
out  of  the  sideboard,  aud  some  glasses,  and  hot  water,  and 
sugar.  It  is  mild,  Macon,"  he  said,  turning  again  to 
me,  —  "  very  mild  —  just  enough  fire  in  it  to  drive  Jack 
Frost  out  of  your  bones,  and  discomfit  any  incipient  cold 
you  may  have  taken  during  the  drive.  I  suppose  you  are 
like  the  young  University  students  of  my  day,  and  know 
how  to  handle  the  good  things  of  life  with  gentlemanly 
discretion  and  temperance." 

The  old  butler,  Zack,  came,  in  a  little  while,  with  the 
quaint  cut  glass  decanters  on  a  silver  waiter.  I  noticed 
that  the  waiter  and  spoons  bore  the  Carrington  crest  —  a 


180  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

mailed  hand,  a  heart  and  an  anchor,  with  its  motto,  Manu 
forti:  Virtute  et  fide. 

"  This  is  Zack,  my  butler  and  factotum,  Macon ;  he  was 
my  body-servant  at  the  University,  and  knew  your  father," 
the  Colonel  said.  "  Zack,"  he  went  on,  "  this  is  Mr.  Macon 
Cotesworth,  son  of  my  old  friend.  He's  like  his  father, 
isn't  he?" 

Uncle  Zack  stopped,  waiter  in  hand,  and  looked  scruti- 
nizingly  at  me. 

"Lawd!  Marse  John,"  he  said, — "  dat  he  is  —  he 
'nough  lek  he  pa  was  to  be  his  twin.  I  woulder  knowed 
whose  son  he  was  anywhar." 

He  then  put  a  small  slender-legged  table  between  us,  and 
setting  the  waiter  on  it,  went  out.  As  he  left,  I  heard  him 
mutter  to  himself :  —  "  Dat  chile  is  sho  lek  he  pa.  Hit  do 
me  good  to  see  'im.  I  spec  itmek  Marse  John  feel  young 
ergin  to  have  him  settin'  dyar." 

III. 

That  night  after  supper,  the  Colonel  and  I  remained 
talking  by  the  fire  till  the  hands  of  the  tall  corner  clock 
pointed  to  twelve. 

Until  about  ten  o'clock,  Mistress  Anna  was  with  us,  sit- 
ting near  the  candles,  and  working  desultorily  on  some 
piece  of  fancy  work.  She  said  little,  seldom  speaking  save 
when  a  question  was  addressed  to  her ;  but  I  noticed  she 
seemed  to  be  eagerly  listening  to  our  conversation.  She 
seemed  so  modest  that  I  felt  some  hesitancy  in  speaking  to 
her,  but  I  found  myself  looking  askance  at  her  frequently, 


MISTRESS    CARRINGTON    OF    VIRGINIA.  181 

and  the  more  I  looked,  the  more  I  wanted  to  look.  Yes, 
she  was  indeed  pretty,  and  I  could  not  help  thinking  how 
exceedingly  appropriate  was  Junius's  unique  metaphor, 
when  he  said  her  face  looked  as  though  it  had  not  decided 
whether  it  would  be  most  like  a  snowdrop  or  a  peach  blos- 
som. For  its  beauty  and  purity — its  delicate  coloring, 
and  perfect  symmetry  were  certainly  suggestive  of  those 
flowers. 

In  a  little  while,  I  found  myself  talking  disconnectedly, 
or  listening  perfunctorily  and  inattentively  to  the  Colonel, 
while  my  thoughts,  as  though  attracted  by  a  magnet, 
would  center  on  his  daughter.  She  sat  there  with  head 
bent  over,  and  eyes  on  her  needle  work,  totally  unconscious 
of  what  a  lovely  picture  she  was,  as  the  full  light  of  the 
candle  shone  on  her,  lighting  up  her  every  beautiful  feature, 
aud  lending  the  lustre  of  spun  gold  to  her  hair. 

The  Colonel,  however,  chatted  on  merrily,  telling  of  his 
student  days  and  hunting-trips,  and  never  dreaming  but 
that  every  particle  of  my  attention  aud  interest  was  his.  1 
tried  to  keep  up  with  him  just  enough  to  answer  intelligently 
should  he  ask  me  a  question ;  but  as  he  asked  very  few,  I 
felt  safer,  and  soon  was  stealing  more  glances  and  letting  nty 
thoughts  drift  more  and  more  towards  Mistress  Anna. 
Several  times  she  caught  me  looking  at  her ;  and  the  first 
time,  she  unabashed,  and  openly  returned  my  gaze,  looking 
me  frankly  and  squarely  in  the  eye  till  I  shifted  my  sight  to 
the  fire.  The  next  time  I  looked  toward  her,  I  found  her 
looking  at  me,  but  her  eyes  dropped  at  once  to  her  sewing. 
Again  in  a  little  while,  as  I  was  looking  at  her,  I  saw  her 
glance  quickly  at  me,  but  seeing  that  I  observed  her,  she 


182  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

turned  again  at  once  to  her  work,  and  I  thought  I  saw  the 
peach  blossom  prevail  in  her  cheeks. 

I  now  most  inconsiderately  suffered  myself  to  become 
oblivious  to  the  Colonel's  presence,  as  I  could  scarcely  keep 
my  eyes  off  Mistress  Anna,  and  when  not  looking  at  her,  I 
was  gazing  abstractedly  into  the  fire  and  thinking  of  her. 

Presently  I  became  half  conscious  that  the  Colonel  had 
started  out  to  tell  a  joke.  I  had  already  discovered  that 
the  Colonel's  jokes,  while  excellent,  were  long,  and  the 
listener  was  always  carried  on  a  circuitous  route  of  details 
and  preliminaries  before  he  was  brought  to  the  climax  and 
laughing  point.  So  I  thought  I  might  safely  let  my  mind 
drift  away  into  the  maze  of  soft  thoughts  which  had  already 
engendered,  and  come  back  in  time  to  catch  up  the  thread 
of  the  Colonel's  anecdote,  and  laugh  with  him  at  the  de- 
nouement. Unfortunately,  however,  I  made  a  blunder,  and 
did  not  pay  enough  attention  to  the  Colonel  to  meet  the 
requirements  of  either  courtesy  or  intelligence ;  for  as  the 
Colonel  clapped  his  hands  at  some  emphatic  point  in  the 
narrative,  it  awakened  me  from  my  dream,  and  I,  thinking 
that  the  point  of  the  joke  had  been  reached,  laughed  long 
and  loud. 

All  was  still  after  my  untoward  merriment  had  ceased ; 
and  I  was  conscious  that  I  had  made  a  mistake,  and  that 
the  Colonel  and  his  daughter  were  looking  at  me  curiously ; 
and  I  felt  very  much  embarrassed. 

Presently,  my  host  tactfully  took  up  and  continued  his 
anecdote.  It  was  a  long  time  yet  before  the  amusing  point 
was  reached,  and  from  what  followed,  I  judged  that  my 


MISTRESS    CARRINGTON    OF    VIRGINIA.  183 

mirth  had  been  most  unseemly,  and  had  broken  out  just  as 
the  Colonel  was  telling  a  most  pathetic  part  of  the  story. 

I  paid  strict  attention  to  him  after  this  ;  but  I  noticed  he 
looked  closely  at  me  several  times,  and  asked  if  I  were  not 
sleepy  after  my  all-day's  journey.  Once,  too,  he  spoke  of 
the  apple  brandy  again,  and  asked  if  I  thought  it  strong, 
and  if  I  was  easily  affected  by  spirituous  liquors. 

Something  after  10  o'clock,  Mistress  Anna  laid  aside  her 
needlework  and  got  up.  As  she  did  so,  I  heard  her  draw 
a  deep  breath,  which  I  knew  not  whether  to  interpret  as  a 
small  yawn  or  a  big  sigh.  Then  she  came,  and  putting  her 
arm  around  her  father's  neck,  kissed  him  good-night.  This 
lovely  scene  affected  me  deeply ;  and  I  wished  with  all  my 
soul  that  I  were  in  the  Colonel's  shoes  for  a  few  minutes. 
She  next  came  and  shook  hands  with  me,  bidding  me  good- 
night, and  saying  that  she  hoped  I  would  find  my  room 
comfortable,  and  would  sleep  well.  Then,  taking  up  a 
candle,  she  went  out,  and  I  heard  the  patter  of  her  dainty 
slippers  as  she  mounted  the  stair. 

When  the  clock  struck  twelve,  the  Colonel  took  me  up  to 
my  room.  After  he  had  gone  down,  I  sat  a  long  while  be- 
fore my  fire  smoking  and  thinking.  Then  I  undressed, 
and  bounced  into  the  great  testered  bed,  that  was  as  soft 
and  white  as  a  snow  drift,  and  soon  fell  asleep. 

That  night  I  dreamed  I  wandered  through  a  great  beauti- 
ful garden  where  snow  drops  and  peach  blossoms  were  the 
principal  flowers.  There  was  one  other  who  walked  with 
me,  and  whose  hand  I  held ;  and  I  thought  the  flowers  all 
nodded  and  smiled  to  her.  We  walked  to  a  great  orange 
tree  which  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  garden,  in  full  bloom. 


184  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

And  I  thought  there  was  a  little  pink  Cupid  up  it,  and  he 
laughed  when  he  saw  us ;  and  making  a  wreath  of  the 
flowering  orange,  he  tossed  it  over  my  companion's  head. 

IV. 

The  next  morning  about  break  of  day,  I  was  awakened 
by  a  stamping  outside  of  my  door  —  someone  was  getting 
the  snow  off  his  feet.  Then  the  door  opened,  and  in  the 
dim  light,  I  saw  the  figure  of  Uncle  Zack  looming  up  dark 
and  colossal.  In  one  hand  he  carried  a  shovel-full  of  glow- 
ing coals,  and  the  other  pressed  to  his  bosom  a  large  bundle 
of  resinous  pine  fagots,  or  "  lightwood,"  as  he  called  it. 
The  red  light  from  the  fire-coals  shone  on  his  black,  shiny 
face  with  its  snowy  beard,  bringing  it  out  in  a  strong,  weird 
relief. 

I  heard  him  walk  with  a  heavy  tread  to  the  fire-place  — 
his  native  uncouthness,  —  big  feet,  and  bigger  shoes,  mak- 
ing futile  his  tip-toeing  and  other  endeavors  to  make  as  little 
noise  as  possible  so  as  not  to  disturb  me. 

On  reaching  the  fire-place,  he  uttered  a  characteristic 
groan  as  he  stooped  to  his  knees,  and  put  down  the  fire  and 
kindling. 

"Ah  Lawd,"  he  mumbled,  talking  to  himself,  "  dat 
rheurnatiz  in  my  back  is  wuss  dis  col'  weather.  Hit  'pear 
lek  don'  nothin'  do  it  no  good  'cept  dat  brandy  whar  Marse 
John  gin  me.  Dat  seem  to  loosen  up  de  retchin  right  smart. 
Marse  John  says  ole  folks  lek  me  and  him  ought  to  have  a 
toddy  every  mornin'." 

He  commenced  to  'blow  the  coals,  and  I  could  hear  the 


MISTRESS    CARRINGTON    OF   VIRGINIA.  185 

sputter  of  the  resinous  pine  as  it  became  ignited  and  blazed 
up,  throwing  a  bright,  flickering  light  into  the  room.  Uncle 
Zack  piled  on  more  wood,  and  then  seemed  to  be  busying 
himself  with  sundry  little  attentions  to  the  fire.  He  took 
up  some  of  the  ashes  from  the  middle  of  the  fire-place  and 
shovelled  them  into  the  corners.  Then  he  held  his  hands 
in  the  blaze  to  warm  them  ;  and  finally,  he  turned  up  a  near- 
by ottoman,  and  took  a  turkey  wing  from  under  it,  and 
commenced  to  sweep  up  the  hearth. 

Meantime,  he  was  groaning  and  mumbling  to  himself  all 
the  while:  he  seemed  to  be  unconsciously  thinking  aloud. 
From  what  I  could  gather,  I  and  the  rheumatism  and 
Colonel  Carrington's  brandy  seemed  to  be  the  topics  upper- 
most in  his  mind. 

"  Yas,  —  fine  young  gentmuu,"  I  heard  him  say,  as  he 
soliloquized  in  an  undertone,  —  "  jes  lek  he  pa;  —  I  spec 
he  hear  how  pretty  Miss  Anna  is  and  he  done  come  to  spark 
'er.  He'll  be  mekin  love  to  her  fus  thing  you  know.  He 
good  'nough  fur  'er,  doh,  I  reggin,  and  he  wan't  gwi  pay 
no  'tention  to  'er  if  he  wan't  neither.  Naw,  Lawd,  —  dey 
got  to  be  de  bes'  blood  in  de  Ian'  fo'  dey  come  flyin'  'round 
Miss  Anna.  She  don't  want  none  of  yo'  ha'f  strainers 
prancin'  'roun  her ;  and  I  wan't  gwi  have  it  neither.  Dey 
got  to  b'long  to  de  ristocracks  fo'  I  'lows  'em  to  look  at  'er. 
Ah,  Lawd!  dis  rheumatiz  is  ter'ble  dis  mornin' : — Num- 
min' — I  spec  Marse  John  gwi  gimme  er  leetle  dis  mor- 
nin' —  I  lek  to  see  young  folks  a-lovin'  one  'ner.  Miss 
Anna  lek  him  right  well  already  I  do  b'lieve.  I  see  'er  look 
at  him  kinder  shy  las'  night  at  de  table,  and  den  let  her 
eyes  drap  real  quick,  and  bleshed  when  she  cotched  him 


186  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

lookin'  at  her.  Yassir,  I  b'lieve  she's  kinder  took  wid  him 
at  de  fas  jump.  Dey'd  mek  er  handsome  couple,  too. 
Lawd,  wouldn't  she  look  pretty  wid  dem  orange  blooms  and 
lace  veils  and  things  on!  Marse  John  he  never  could 
mek  up  his  min'  to  spyar  'er,  doh.  If  she  ever  gits  mar- 
ried, she  got  to  live  right  hyar.  Hit  would  kill  Marse 
John  to  have  'er  go  'way.  He  wouldn't  gin  'er  up  not  to 
let  'er  marry  er  king ;  and  he's  right,  too.  I  dunno  what 
we'd  do  widout  'er.  She's  been  de  light  of  dis  house  ever 
since  she  could  walk  —  ever  since  ole  Miss  died.  And 
Marse  John  hissef  wouldn't  miss  'er  no  mo'n  Unc'  Zack 
would.  Lawd,  hit  seems  lek  'twan't  no  longer  dan  yistidy, 
when  I  used  to  tek  'er  up  in  my  arms  and  jump  'er,  and 
tote  'er  'round.  I  'member  jes  as  well  how  she  used  to  run 
about  in  dose  little  speckle  gingham  dresses  wid  her  hair  all 
floatin'  'bout  jes  as  sparkly  and  bright  as  dis  hyar  tinsley 
stuff  whar  dey  has  on  Chrismus  trees.  I  knowed  den  she 
was  gwi  be  de  prettiest  thing  in  de  whole  country  when  she 
growed  up.  Hit  didn't  tek  no  prophet  to  tell  dat.  Dem 
blue  eyes  of  hers  had  mo'  in  'em  dan  mos'  chilluns.  Dyar 
was  always  suppin  bright  and  shiny  'bout  'er  face  whar  put 
me  in  min'  of  sunshine  on  a  rosebud." 

It  is  needless  to  say  that  I  had  been  an  eager  listener  to 
this  random  and  rather  incoherent  monologue.  Whether  it 
was  intended  for  my  ears  or  not,  I  could  not  say.  Judg- 
ing from  parenthetical  clauses  relative  to  the  Colonel's 
brandy,  I  hardly  thought  it  was  ;  but  if  any  self-accusations 
of  eavesdropping  had  arisen  in  my  mind,  they  were  quickly 
disregarded  when  I  heard  the  name  of  Anna  spoken.  In 
my  eagerness  to  catch  everj  word,  I  craned  my  neck  until 


MISTRESS    CARRINGTON    OF    VIRGINIA.  187 

it  was  exposed,  and  well  from  under  the  covering.  This 
now  brought  on  a  fit  of  sneezing,  which  coming,  as  it  did, 
at  a  most  unwelcome  time,  told  Uncle  Zack  that  I  was 
awake. 

"  Hi!  Marse  Macon,"  he  said,  turning  towards  the  bed, 
"  is  you  'wake?  Didn't  know  you  was  thinkin'  bout 
wakin'  yit.  Hyar  I  been  runnin'  on,  and  talkin'  to 
myse'f  ;  — hope  I  ain't  'sturb  you?  " 

"No,  Uncle  Zack,  —  not  at  all;  but  is  it  time  to  get 
up?" 

"  Lawd,  chile,  no,  —  tu'n  over  and  go 'long  to  sleep 
ergin.  De  roosters  ain'  been  long  crow  fur  day.  Marse 
John,  he  up  —  he  always  gits  up  early,  but  he  ain'  had  he 
toddy  yit.  And  Sis  Milly  jes  done  put  de  brade  on.  Don't 
you  study  'bout  gittin'  up  yit.  By  de  time  you  tek  ernother 
nap  de  room  will  be  nice  and  warm.  I  gwi  put  you  er  kettle 
of  water  on  so  hit'll  be  hot  when  you's  ready  to  wash. 
Naw,  chile,  don't  you  study  'bout  gittin'  up  yit,  I  jes  gwine 
down  to  de  spring  to  see  if  I  kin  fin'  some  sprigs  of  mint 
fur  Marse  John.  He  ginrally  tek  he  julep  widout  de  mint, 
but  he  ax  me  dis  moruiu'  if  I  didn't  reggin  I  could  fin'  er 
leetle  in  de  warm  comders  under  de  leaves,  whar  de  fros' 
ain'  tech; — said  he  had  a  kinder  hankerin'  fur  de  mint 
flavor,  and  dat  he  spec  you'd  enjoy  er  little  mint  julep 
yo'se'f  fo'  breakfas'.  Said  he  didn't  b'lieve  in  'couragin' 
young  gentmuns  to  drink  sperits,  but  dat  dey  ought  to  learn 
when  dey  is  young  how  to  handle  it  in  er  gentmunly  way. 
He  said  dyar  was  er  right  way  of  usin'  things,  and  er  wrong 
way,  and  if  you  learned  er  young  man  de  right  way  fus,  he 


188  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

wan't  in  much  danger  of  gittin'  in  de  wrong  way  arter 
while. 

"  Well,  I  done  run  on  and  'sturbed  you  'nough  now. 
Marse  John  '11  be  hollerin'  fur  he  mint  preziiy.  Tu'n  over 
and  go  'long  to  sleep,  Marse  Macon:  I  gwi  ring  de  risin' 
bell  when  hit's  time  to  git  up.  And  if  you  sleeps  all  day 
long  hit  don'  mek  no  diffunce.  Marse  John  says  he  always 
want  his  gueses  to  do  jest  what  dey  like  to  do,  'specially  at 
Chrismus  time.  If  dey'd  ruther  sleep,  dey  kin  sleep  till  de 
cows  come  home,  and  hit  don'  mek  no  diffunce  long  as  dey 
is  pleasin'  deyse'f." 

With  these  parting  words,  Uncle  Zack  went  out,  and 
following  his  advice,  I  turned  over  and  went  to  sleep  till  I 
was  aroused  about  an  hour  later  by  the  ringing  of  the  rising 
bell. 

I  got  up  and  dressed  in  my  hunting  suit  and  went  down. 
I  found  the  Colonel  in  the  sitting-room  before  a  great  roaring 
fire  of  hickory  logs.  He  was  reading  a  volume  of  Plutarch's 
Lives,  which  he  laid  down  as  I  came  in,  and  getting  up, 
shook  my  hand  warmly. 

"  Good  morning,  Macon,"  he  said,  "  I  hope  you  slept 
well,  and  are  feeling  as  fresh  as  a  lark  this  morning.  I 
thought  you  seemed  a  little  tired  last  night ;  and  no  doubt 
you  were.  By-the-by,  I  suppose  you  named  the  corners 
last  night?  —  four  University  girls  of  course.  There  are  as 
many  belles  up  there  now  as  there  were  in  my  day,  I  am  told. 
We  have  very  charming  women  in  Virginia,  Macon." 

"You  have,  indeed,  sir,"  I  stated  with  probably  more 
emphasis  and  feeling  than  was  expected,  —  "They  can 
compare  most  favorably  with  our  South  Carolina  girls." 


MISTRESS    CARRINGTON    OF    VIRGINIA.  189 

V. 

The  two  remaining  days  before  Christmas  glided  rapidly 
away.  The  Colonel  taking  me  over  the  house  and  farm, 
showing  me  very  interesting  things.  There  were  legends 
and  traditions  connected  with  much  of  the  old  familiar  silver 
and  antique  furniture,  which  the  Colonel  narrated  with  a 
zest  and  style  that  was  highly  entertaining.  I  was  par- 
ticularly interested  in  the  collection  of  family  portraits. 
There  was  a  fine  profile  likeness  of  the  Colonel  himself 
taken  as  a  youth.  It  was  one  of  St.  Memin's  beautiful 
crayons,  and  was  very  handsome,  there  being  something 
about  the  expression  of  the  brow  and  eye  which  reminded 
me  strongly  of  his  daughter. 

The  Colonel  and  I  also  took  a  most  enjoyable  hunt.  We 
went  horseback,  the  Colonel  saying,  that  while  in  his  younger 
days,  he  often  covered  the  farm  afoot,  but  now,  with  in- 
creasing years,  he  had  become  stout  and  short  of  breath, 
and  was  unequal  to  a  long  tramp.  A  small  black  boy  rode 
behind  us  on  a  mule  to  hold  our  horses  when  we  got  down 
to  shoot. 

The  dog  soon  stood  a  covey  on  the  edge  of  a  broomsage 
field,  and  descending  from  our  mounts,  we  walked  into  the 
birds.  They  rose  all  about  us  with  a  buzzing  roar  and  boom 
that  was  most  confusing.  I,  not  being  an  experienced  hun- 
ter or  good  marksman,  blazed  away  at  random,  firing  both 
barrels,  but  not  bringing  down  a  feather.  The  Colonel 
banged  away  and  toppled  over  the  first  bird,  but  made  a 
clean  miss  of  the  second. 

"Pshaw!  pshaw!  "  I  heard  him  ejaculate  as  the  noise 


190  STUBS    OF   TIME. 

died  away ;  "  a  bad  miss  —  I  should  have  gotten  that  second 
bird." 

The  birds  had  scattered  admirably  along  both  sides  of  a 
ditch,  and  we  were  soon  getting  them  up  singly  and  in  pairs, 
having  great  sport.  I  killed  my  next  bird,  but  the  Colonel 
missed  his,  discharging  only  one  barrel. 

"  Wait  a  minute,  Macon,"  he  said,  taking  a  flask  of 
brandy  from  his  pocket,  after  reloading,  —  "I  need  a  little 
something  to  steady  my  nerves  and  supple  my  limbs.  Some 
years  ago,  I  would  not  have  taken  it,  but  I  find  I  can  shoot 
better  for  it  now.  Old  blood  needs  something  to  stimulate 
it  to  action." 

More  birds  got  up,  and  I  did  wild  shooting  ;  but  the  Col- 
onel killed  several  consecutively,  making  some  fine  double 
shots.  His  good  shooting  continued  in  the  main  through- 
out the  day.  After  every  bad  miss,  I  noticed  he  would 
take  a  swallow  of  brandy,  and  it  appeared  to  be  really  of 
much  assistance  to  him.  My  shooting  amused  the  Colonel 
immensely,  and  for  a  long  time  afterwards,  he  would  tease 
me  about  it. 

Toward  evening,  while  we  were  crossing  a  small  belt  of 
woods  between  two  fields,  the  dogs  flushed  a  flock  of  wild 
turkeys.  One  of  them  came  flying  past  us  at  about  seventy 
yards.  The  Colonel  raised  his  gun  with  alacrity,  and  banged 
away,  breaking  the  turkey's  wing.  Then  we  had  a  wild 
chase  of  it.  The  bird  dashed  away  for  the  thick  cover,  with 
lightning  speed.  The  Colonel  snapped  his  other  barrel,  but 
it  hung  fire,  and  did  not  go  off.  I  shot  but  missed.  Run- 
ning after  it,  we  called  the  dogs,  and  they  trailed  it  for 
about  half  a  mile.  Finally,  the  bird,  being  exhausted  by 


MISTRESS    CARRINGTON    OF   VIRGINIA.  191 

loss  of  blood,  was  captured  by  the  dogs,  and  we  were  soon 
up  with  them. 

I  was  a  gigantic  gobbler,  very  fat;  and  had  a  beard, 
which  the  Colonel  measured,  and  found  it  to  be  of  seven 
inches  length. 

"  Just  in  time  for  our  Christmas  dinner,  to-morrow," 
said  the  Colonel,  smiling  in  glorious  good  humor  and  satis- 
faction. Then  we  turned  our  horses  homeward,  being  well 
pleased  with  our  day's  sport ;  having  bagged  twenty-five 
partridges  and  the  turkey. 

VI. 

My  host  and  hostess  had  invited  a  number  of  young 
people  over  to  spend  Christmas  Eve  with  us,  and  that  night 
we  were  up  till  a  late  hour,  dancing,  romping  and  playing 
games.  There  were  some  very  lovely  girls  among  them, 
too,  I  remember,  but  I  did  not  think  any  the  peer  of  Anna 
Carrington.  Ah,  I  shall  never  forget  how  she  looked  that 
night  in  her  gown  of  fluffy,  dreamy  pink  with  its  low-cut 
neck  and  short  sleeves.  Can  I  ever  forget  the  thrill  I  felt 
when  I  took  her  little  hand  in  mine  and  danced  those 
measures  with  her ! 

After  supper,  we  had  broken  up  in  pairs  mostly,  some 
playing  round  games  and  cribbage,  and  others  chatting. 
Then  some  of  the  girls  went  to  the  spinet,  and  played  and 
sang.  I  got  Mistress  Anna  off  in  a  corner  of  the  library. 
While  sitting  there  talking  with  her,  and  looking  into  those 
beautiful  eyes,  I  came  very  near  telling  her  I  loved  her; 
for  I  was  certain  that  I  did  now.  And  then  I  thought  it 


192  STUBS    OF   TIME. 

was  too  soon,  a  little  premature,  I  had  known  her  so  short 
a  while.  She  would  not  believe  me ;  she  might  be  fright- 
ened. And,  yet,  I  could  not  realize  that  I  had  known  her 
so  little  time.  It  seemed  as  though  I  had  known  her  always, 
as  I  had  known  myself ;  that  she  was  a  part  of  me,  and  had 
been  for  all  time. 

Uncle  Zack  came  in  with  his  fiddle,  in  a  little  while, 
and  the  hall,  having  been  cleared,  he  seated  himself  in  a 
corner  and  called  out,  "  Pardners  fur  de  fus  quadrille." 
He  rosined  his  bow,  tuned  and  plunked  the  strings  for  a 
time,  and  then,  with  such  a  heavy  patting  of  the  foot  that 
the  chandeliers  shook  and  trembled  in  the  ceiling,  he  struck 
up  that  good  old  tune,  "  Mollie  Orchard,"  and  the  lines 
swept  forward,  swaying  and  turning  gracefully  in  the  joyous 
movements  of  the  dance. 

There  was  mistletoe  hanging  from  the  chandelier  in  the 
center  of  the  hall,  and  the  girls  all  made  a  great  pretense  of 
dodging  from  under  it  as  they  danced  by.  We  kissed  at 
them,  and,  as  everybody  was  in  gala  Christmas  spirits,  per- 
chance, some  of  the  kisses  landed,  and  were  taken  in  no  ill 
will. 

The  quadrille  being  over,  Minnie  Waller,  a  tall  handsome 
brunette  with  flashing  black  eyes,  and  a  stateliuess  of  air 
and  appearance  which  reminded  one  of  an  Assyrian  queen, 
went  and  took  her  stand  boldly  under  the  mistletoe.  "  Now, 
who  dares?"  she  said,  looking  on  us  in  defiance.  Sev- 
eral of  the  young  beaux  rushed  forward,  but  on  getting  close 
to  her,  they  seemed  to  be  held  at  bay  by  her  haughty  bear- 
ing and  flashing  eyes.  Gordon  Roane,  however,  being 
bolder  than  the  rest,  went  forward,  and  gave  her  a  resound- 


MISTRESS    CARRINGTON    OF    VIRGINIA.  193 

ing  salute  on  the  cheek.  He  was  one  of  those  jolly,  dash- 
ing fellows  who  could  do  or  say  anything  he  pleased.  He 
paid  the  penalty  of  his  kiss  ;  for  before  he  could  get  away 
Miss  Waller  gave  him  a  ringing  box  on  the  ear,  and, 
amid  much  laughter,  he  retreated  with  a  very  red  face  to  a 
corner. 

Next  came  the  Lancers,  and  I  felt  sick  when  I  found  that 
Gordon  Roane  had  engaged  Anna  as  his  partner.  I  got 
another  partner,  but  I  fear  I  proved  but  a  bore  to  her,  pay- 
ing her  little  heed,  as  my  e}Tes  and  attention  were  fixed  on 
another. 

Gordon  Roane  was  very  good-looking  and  attractive,  and 
he  and  Anna  were  old  friends,  and  seemed  to  be  on  the  most 
intimate  terms.  I  know  I  must  have  looked  green  with 
jealousy  as  I  watched  him  and  her  chatting  together.  There 
seemed  to  be  secrets  between  them,  too,  and  he  would 
whisper  something  to  her,  and  she  would  look  up  at  him  and 
smile  in  the  most  bewitching  manner.  There  appeared  to 
be  a  thorough  understanding  and  congeniality  between  them, 
which  almost  drove  me  wild.  I  fear  I  had  a  look  on  my 
face  and  a  thought  in  my  heart  which  was  most  uncharitable 
to  Roane. 

After  the  Lancers,  I  rushed  up  to  them,  and  engaged 
Anna  for  the  waltz  that  followed.  There  was  a  little  inter- 
mission before  the  waltz,  Uncle  Zack  taking  time  to  catch 
his  breath  and  gulp  down  a  big  mug  of  eggnog.  Meantime 
Anna  and  young  Roane  promenaded  arm  in  arm  out  of  the 
hall,  and  went  into  the  sitting-room.  There,  when  the  waltz 
commenced,  I  pounced  upon  them  like  a  savage,  and  claimed 
my  partner.  I  found  them  sitting  on  a  sofa  in  a  corner  by 

13 


194  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

themselves,  and  seemingly  oblivious  to  all  else  but  their  own 
society.  She  said  she  was  a  little  tired,  and  that  her  slipper 
cramped  her  foot,  and  asked  if  I  would  not  please  excuse 
her  from  the  engagement.  "Yes,"  I  said  curtly  and 
coldly, — for  there  was  nothing  else  I  could  say, — and 
whirled  around  and  walked  away.  I  went  and  got  another 
partner,  and  entered  mechanically  into  the  waltz.  One 
moment  I  would  feel  raging,  and  another,  all  crushed  and 
despondent.  I  could  do  nothing,  though,  and  I  concealed 
my  feelings,  and  acted  my  part  in  the  festivities  as  best  I 
could.  In  a  little  while  I  saw  that  she  had  come  in,  and  was 
waltzing  with  Roane  in  spite  of  her  fatigue  and  tight  shoe. 

During  the  dancing  the  Colonel  came  in  for  a  short  time, 
and,  selecting  a  fair  and  charming  partner,  danced  a  lively 
measure  or  so.  He  seemed  to  enjoy  it  greatly,  but  puffed 
mightily  at  the  end,  taking  a  chair  in  the  doorway  where  he 
could  look  on,  and  saying  that  for  the  rest  of  the  evening 
he  thought  it  more  expedient  that  he  join  in  the  gaieties  in 
spirit  and  not  in  person  ;  that  the  years  had  stoutened  and 
stiffened  his  body,  but  his  heart  was  as  young  as  ever.  He 
sat  and  watched  us  for  quite  awhile,  his  face  beaming,  and 
a  great  beaker  of  eggnog  in  his  hand. 

I  paid  no  more  attention  to  Mistress  Anna  that  night,  and 
would  not  even  look  at  her.  The  company  left  at  a  late 
hour,  the  Colonel  telling  them  as  they  went  out  that  he  feared 
if  they  had  stayed  up  much  later  they  would  have  kept  Santa 
Glaus  from  coming,  and  he  would  not  have  filled  his  little 
Anna's  stocking. 

The  next  day  was  Christmas,  and  we  spent  it,  as  was  cus- 
tomary in  those  days  in  the  South,  in  a  semi-religious  way, 


MISTRESS    CARRINGTON    OF    VIRGINIA.  195 

making  it  a  day  of  quiet  peace,  joy  and  good-will.  The 
Colonel  spent  the  morning  in  distributing  presents  among  his 
negroes,  and  there  was  none  that  he  forgot,  giving  even  the 
little  black  pickaninny  that  was  but  a  week  old  some  nice 
warm  frocks  of  flannel. 

I  will  always  remember  the  Christmas  dinner.  We  had 
no  guests — there  was  none  but  the  Colonel,  his  daughter 
and  myself.  Every  face  on  Huntiugton  Hall  farm  was 
radiant  that  day,  —  even  my  own,  for  I  would  not  suffer  my 
last  night's  discomfiture  to  give  me  a  long  face,  and  make 
me  as  a  skeleton  at  the  feast.  I  assumed  a  cheerful  coun- 
tenance ;  Mistress  Carrington  was  all  smiles,  and  seemed  to 
have  no  recollection  of  the  last  night's  happenings ;  and  the 
Colonel's  jovial  face  fairly  shone  with  good-will  and  kindli- 
ness. 

After  the  Colonel  had  said  grace,  we  sat  down  at  the  table 
which  was  all  a-sparkle  with  the  family  silver  and  cut  glass. 
The  Colonel  raised  the  glittering  carving  knife  and  fork,  and 
tackled  our  big  turkey  with  a  vim  and  gusto  that  was  pleas- 
ant to  see.  It  was  a  most  delicious  bird — fat,  and  well 
cooked,  with  an  abundance  of  rich  gravy  seasoned  in  the 
most  palatable  mode.  With  its  cranberry  sauce,  I  enjoyed 
that  turkey  to  the  fullest  extent ;  for  love,  I  am  thankful  to 
say,  never  did  affect  my  appetite. 

There  was  on  the  table  a  bottle  of  rare,  old  Medoc  of  the 
Chateau  Margaux  variety,  I  think,  the  Colonel  told  me,  if 
I  remember  correctly.  He  also  said  that  this  wine  had 
been  in  the  family  for  generations,  and  was  always  honored 
by  a  separate  clause  in  the  family  wills ;  that  it  had  been 
brought  over  from  Bordeaux  about  the  middle  of  the 


196  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

eighteenth  century  on  board  one  of  his  great-grandfather's 
trading  ships.  He  said  that  it  had  been  a  custom  in  the 
family  to  drink  this  wine  only  on  Christmas  Day,  and  that 
there  were  only  a  few  bottles  left  now. 

I  am  by  no  means  a  connoisseur  of  wines,  but  I  can  say 
that  I  have  never  tasted  a  vintage  in  which  smoothness,  fire, 
and  delicious  delicacy  of  bouquet  were  so  happily  blended 
as  they  were  in  this  old  Medoc.  We  sipped  it  leisurely, 
Miss  Carrington  taking  only  half  a  glass,  and  the  Colonel 
telling  some  capital  jokes  between  the  sips  of  wine  and  big 
mouthfuls  of  turkey. 

After  dinner,  Uncle  Zack  was  given  a  taste  of  the  wine, 
the  Colonel  telling  him  its  age  and  history,  and  asking  his 
opinion  of  it.  Uncle  Zack  tasted  it,  and  smacked  his  lips 
gravely:  "  Gawd  A'mighty,  Marse  John,"  he  said,  "  hit 
sho  is  curious  ;  dyar's  suppiu  in  it  whar  min'  me  of  Hebben, 
and  dyar's  suppin  in  it  whar  min'  me  of  de  yuther  place. 
Hit  got  fire  and  aidge  to  it,  but  den  it  got  suppin  soothin', 
and  sweet,  and  restful  lek  in  it  too." 

Christmas  night,  we  had  no  company,  neither  did  we  go 
out.  The  Colonel  and  I  played  backgammon  and  chess, 
and  Anna  read  Moore's  Poems.  Later,  she  and  I  played 
cribbage  while  the  Colonel  smoked  his  pipe.  Again,  I  was 
on  the  point  of  saying  something  tender  to  her,  but  I 
restrained  myself,  being  still  somewhat  resentful  at  her  treat- 
ment of  me  the  night  before.  She  had  never  offered  any  ex- 
planation as  to  why  she  had  behaved  so ;  nor  did  I  mention 
it,  as  it  was  an  unpleasant  subject  to  me. 

The  next  night  Mistress  Anna  and  myself  were  invited 
out  to  Dr.  Waller's  to  a  big  party.  Dr.  Waller  had  a  noble 


MISTRESS    CARRINGTON    OF    VIRGINIA.  197 

old  mansion  about  five  miles  from  Huntington  Hall ;  and 
about  sundown,  we  started  in  the  carriage,  Uncle  Zack  acting 
as  driver  and  chaperon. 

Mistress  Anna  was  quite  gracious  during  the  drive,  and 
very  talkative  for  her.  She  prattled  away,  and  told  me  all 
about  the  beautiful  furs  she  wore,  which,  she  said,  had 
been  prepared  from  the  skins  of  red  foxes  that  her  father 
had  caught  in  the  chase.  She  was  experienced  at  fox  hunt- 
ing herself,  she  told  me,  and  had  not  infrequently  been  a 
brush  winner. 

When  we  got  to  Dr.  Waller's,  the  house  was  filled  with  a 
gay  and  fair  company.  There  was  a  whole  band  of  darkey 
musicians ;  the  big  rooms  were  all  thrown  open  ;  the  floors 
were  waxed  till  they  glistened  like  mirrors';  and  big  bunches 
of  holly  and  mistletoe  were  throughout  the  house. 

Radiant  with  the  pleasurable  excitement  of  the  evening, 
Anna  looked  more  lovely  than  I  had  ever  seen  her.  She  was 
a  great  belle  that  evening,  but  I  got  all  the  dances  with  her 
I  could.  In  one  of  the  waltzes  I  had  with  her,  the  floor  was 
crowded  with  many  couples,  and  I  had  to  hold  her  close 
and  firmly  in  order  to  guide  in  the  throng  of  dancers. 
There  was  the  little  golden  head  against  my  shoulder ;  there 
was  the  little  velvety  hand  in  mine ;  and  I  don't  suppose  I 
should  have  done  it,  but  I  could  not  help  it :  —  as  we 
passed  under  the  mistletoe,  which  hung  from  the  swinging 
lamp,  I  bowed  my  head  and  kissed  her  on  the  brow.  She 
started  to  break  from  me,  but  just  then  the  music  stopped, 
and  supper  was  announced.  Then  I  could  hold  myself  in 
no  longer,  and  blurted  it  out  as  best  I  could:  "  Anna,"  I 


198  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

whispered  as  I  offered  her  my  arm,  "  I  love  you,  and  I  could 
not  help  it." 

She  was  very  solemn  going  back  that  night.  The  moon  was 
shining  brightly.  Uncle  Zack  was  sitting  on  the  front  seat 
intermittently  humming  some  dolorous  darkey  dirge,  and 
clucking  to  the  horses.  He  was  not  in  as  gloomy  a  mood  as 
his  song  would  indicate,  for  Dr.  Waller  had  given  him  brandy 
enough  to  lighten  his  heart  without  making  him  dangerous 
as  a  driver. 

I  started  to  talk  on  various  topics,  but  found  it  up-hill 
work,  as  Anna  was  not  at  all  responsive.  After  a  long 
pause,  I  stole  my  hand  into  her  muff,  gently  catching  her 
hand.  She  withdrew  it  quickly.  "  Did  you  hear  what  I 
told  you  to-night?  "  I  asked  her.  "  Yes,"  she  answered, 
"  but  I  don't  wish  to  talk  of  it.  Say  no  more  about  it  — 
not  now." 

VII. 

The  next  day  we  slept  late ;  and  the  day  following,  we 
went  fox  hunting.  Notwithstanding  his  advanced  years, 
the  Colonel  was  still  an  excellent  rider,  sitting  a  horse  most 
nobly,  and  was  very  fond  of  the  chase.  We  had  fine  mounts, 
and  a  good  pack  of  hounds  ;  and  a  company  of  the  neigh- 
bors helped  to  make  up  the  party.  The  Colonel  blew  his 
great  buffalo  horn  till  it  re-echoed  resonantly  from  the 
distant  forests  and  hills ;  and  we  cantered  off  merrily. 
The  day  was  bright  and  bracing  —  well-fitted  for  outdoor 
sport. 

I  rode  by  Mistress  Anna's  side.     She  appeared  to  great 


MISTRESS    CARRINGTON    OF    VIRGINIA.  199 

advantage  in  her  tight-fitting  riding  habit  of  dark  green,  and 
sat  firmly  and  gracefully  on  her  big  bay  horse. 

It  was  riot  long  before  a  fox  was  gotten  up,  and  we  dashed 
across  a  field  at  a  furious  gallop  to  follow  the  dogs.  I  was 
no  novice  at  riding,  and  I  found  no  difficulty  in  keeping 
pace  with  the  others.  We  cleared  several  low  fences  and  some 
ditches,  and  then  swept  down  a  great  level  field  half  a  mile 
across.  Anna  and  I  were  still  side  by  side,  and  it  was  a 
great  pleasure  to  me  to  see  the  ease  and  fearlessness  with 
which  she  cleared  the  fences.  As  we  rode  along,  she  taunted 
me  with  much  good-natured  badinage  as  to  how  she  was 
going  to  beat  me  and  win  the  brush. 

At  the  end  of  the  field  there  was  a  high  rail  fence,  some- 
thing over  five  feet,  I  should  judge.  Still  going  at  a  full 
gallop,  we  swept  down  upon  it.  One  after  another  the  riders 
cleared  it.  Anna  and  I  were  about  the  middle  of  the  party : 
some  yards  from  the  fence,  we  turned  our  horses'  heads  a 
little  and  each  aimed  for  a  separate  panel. 

Our  horses  rose  in  the  air.  I  remember  having  my  eyes 
on  Anna,  as,  like  a  lithe  sapling  in  a  storm,  she  swayed  with 
the  motion  of  the  leaping  horse.  I  remember  my  horse 
alighting  heavily,  and  stumbling ;  and  then  all  was  dark. 

VIII. 

When  I  came  to  myself  I  was  in  bed  at  Huntington  Hall. 
The  Colonel  and  Dr.  Waller  with  grave  faces  were  sitting 
by  me.  They  looked  at  me  as  I  moved,  and  smiled  kindly 
as  they  saw  that  I  recognized  them.  I  tried  to  speak,  but 
felt  great  "pain  in  my  side.  I  was  also^aware  that  my  head 


200  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

was  bandaged  up.  And  there  was  a  smell  of  various  medi- 
cines iu  the  room. 

After  attempting  to  collect  my  thoughts  for  awhile,  I  finally 
managed  to  feebly  ask  what  had  happened.  Dr.  Waller 
answered  in  his  gentle,  genial  way,  evidently  trying  to  make 
light  of  the  matter. 

"Nothing  much  is  the  matter,  my  boy,"  he  said,  "  only 
you  had  an  accident  ;  your  horse  fell  and  threw  you  against 
a  stump.  Lie  quiet,  and  don't  talk,  and  you  will  soon  be 
all  right." 

Well,  I  had  a  long  spell  of  it  —  was  on  my  back  for  four 
weeks.  Three  ribs  had  been  broken,  besides,  I  had  a  nar- 
row escape  from  brain  fever.  But  my  mother  came  in  a  few 
days,  and  I  had  her  with  me,  and  Anna. 


IX. 

One  afternoon,  during  my  convalescence,  I  was  lying  on 
the  couch  in  the  library,  in  my  dressing  gown.  My  mother 
was  in  the  next  room,  and  Anna  was  sitting  by,  reading  to 
me.  She  had  read  to  me  much  during  my  illness,  and  in 
the  capacity  of  the  sweetest  little  nurse  in  the  world,  had 
endeared  herself  to  me  more  than  words  could  express. 

It  was  a  love  story  she  had  been  reading  ;  but  the  short 
winter  twilight  had  fallen,  making  it  too  dark  to  read,  and 
she  now  stopped  and  laid  the  book  in  her  lap,  just  as  the 
lovers  in  the  story,  after  many  trials,  seemed  about  to  realize 
their  felicity.  She  laid  the  book  in  her  lap,  and  was  sitting 
there  still  and  silent.  I  had  been  listening  with  closed  eyes, 


MISTRESS    CARRINGTON    OF   VIRGINIA.  201 

but  Inow  opened  them,  and  looked  on  her  as  she  sat  there 
in  the  dim  red  and  golden  glow  of  the  winter's  sunset. 

I  held  out  my  hand  to  her  —  I  was  still  very  weak  — 
"  Anna,"  I  called. 

She  came  to  my  side  and  1  took  her  hand :  "  Anna,"  I 
said,  "it  is  too  dark  to  finish  reading  the  story ;  let  us  act 
out  the  end.  Can  I  speak  of  it  now?  Do  you  love  me?  " 

She  did  not  answer,  but  pressed  my  hand,  and  then  bent 
over  and  kissed  me.  That  was  all.  That  was  enough.  I 
said  no  more,  but  lay  back  and  was  happy. 


X. 

After  I  was  getting  well  and  strong,  my  mother  returned 
home,  and  I  was  to  go  back  to  the  University  in  a  few  days. 

A  day  or  two  before  I  left,  I  was  sitting  one  morning  in 
the  library  with  the  Colonel,  and  I  thought  the  time  had 
come  for  me  to  speak  to  him  of  it. 

"  Colonel,"  I  said,  laying  down  my  book,  and  jumping 
in  without  introduction  or  formality,  "  I  love  your  daughter, 
and  I  want  to  marry  her." 

The  Colonel  sprang  up  as  though  off  a  pin,  and  thrust- 
ing his  hands  in  his  pockets,  stood  looking  over  at  me  with 
an  expression  on  his  face  that  seemed  to  say  he  doubted  the 
testimony  of  his  senses. 

"Want  to  marry  my  daughter!  What  daughter?  my 
little  Anna?  "  he  presently  broke  out. 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Macon,  are  you  mad?" 


202  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

"  No,  sir ;  but  I  love  her,  and  she  loves  me,  and  I  want 
to  marry  her." 

' '  You  —  love  —  her !  —  and  she  —  loves  —  you !  —  and 
you  want  to  marry  her!  "  exclaimed  the  Colonel  with  a 
slow,  broken  emphasis  which  expressed  very  plainly  that  he 
was  nearly  dumfoundered  with  surprise.  "  What  is  that  I 
hear?"  he  continued;  "why,  boy,  she  is  nothing  but  a 
child  —  a  mere  child.  She  doesn't  know  what  love  is,  ex- 
cept her  love  for  me.  Marry  her !  Nonsense !  I  will  call 
her,  and  see  what  all  this  means.  I  hope  you  haven't  been 
putting  silly  ideas  in  my  child's  head  while  enjoying  the 
hospitality  of  my  roof?  Wait  a  moment  —  I'll  call  her,  and 
look  into  this  business." 

I  jumped  before  the  door,  and  remonstrated  with  the 
Colonel ;  and  catching  his  hand  begged  him  not  to  do  it  — 
not  to  bring  her  in,  and  embarrass,  and  perhaps  frighten 
her ;  that  he  might  see  her  privately,  and  talk  with  me  pri- 
vately, and  investigate  the  matter ;  but  that  he  ought  not 
thus  suddenly  to  make  a  public  exhibition,  as  it  were,  of  out- 
most sacred  and  shrinking  thoughts  and  emotions. 

But  the  Colonel  paid  no  heed  to  my  entreaties,  and  brushed 
me  aside. 

"  She's  my  child,  sir,"  he  said,  "  and  I'll  do  as  I  please, 
and  brook  no  interference.  I'm  master  of  my  house  and 
family,  and  don't  wish  to  be  dictated  to." 

I  saw  the  Colonel's  temper  was  rising,  so  I  discreetly 
desisted,  taking  my  seat,  and  awaiting  the  outcome  with 
what  calmness  I  could. 

I  heard  him  go  out  into  the  hall  calling  Anna ;  and  in  a 
little  while  he  came  back  leading  her  by  the  hand.  She 


MISTRESS    CARKINGTON    OF    VIRGINIA.  203 

looked  pale  and  frightened  —  the  little  angel  —  she  didn't 
know  what  was  to  pay,  and  I  half  believe  she  thought  we 
were  going  to  be  married  summarily  then  and  there,  or  that 
the  Colonel  was  going  to  give  us  both  a  flogging.  She 
glanced  at  me,  and  I  think  my  assumed  look  of  dare-devil 
dignity  and  composure  reassured  her  somewhat. 

The  Colonel,  however,  gave  her  short  time  for  speculating 
as  to  what  his  intentions  were.  He  made  his  purpose  known 
at  once.  Having  closed  the  door,  he  motioned  Anna  to  a 
seat;  then  strode  up  to  the  fire,  and  wheeled  about  and 
faced  us. 

"  Anna,"  he  said,  "  has  Macon  been  talking  to  you  about 
love  ? ' ' 

She  blushed  deeply,  then  gave  a  timid  glance  at  me  which 
it  was  easy  to  interpret  as  a  mute,  piteous  appeal  for  some 
sign  as  to  how  she  should  answer.  The  poor  little  dear 
didn't  know  what  to  do,  or  what  to  say.  She  knew  so  little 
of  love,  so  little  of  life  and  the  world,  that  she  knew  not 
whether  love  were  a  crime  or  not.  It  was  a  cruel  question, 
I  thought,  —  it  was  terrible  to  thus  come  down  in  one  fell 
swoop  upon  her  tender,  sensitive  feelings  of  maiden  modesty. 
I  could  hardly  control  myself.  Rash  thoughts  rushed 
through  my  mind.  I  started  to  get  up,  and  take  her  in  my 
arms  and  defy  the  Colonel.  It  was  too  heartless  —  too  cruel 
to  do  her  this  way.  I  shall  never  forget  how  she  looked  as 
she  sat  there  in  the  awful  silence  pending  her  answer  to  that 
question.  Again,  she  looked  at  me,  and  I  nodded.  In  the 
meanwhile,  the  Colonel,  with  a  serious  expression  of  unfath- 
omable meaning  on  his  face,  was  looking  at  her,  awaiting  her 
reply. 


204  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

Then  the  answer  came:  —  "  Yes,  sir,"  she  said  in  a  firm 
voice ;  but  there  was  a  suggestion  of  tears  back  of  it. 

The  Colonel  cleared  his  throat,  and  all  was  still  again. 
I  half  expected  him  to  collar  me  and  kick  me  out  of  the 
house. 

"  Well,"  said  the  Colonel  after  a  brief  pause,  u  come, 
my  child  —  out  with  it —  let  us  have  it  —  tell  me  all  about 
it.  I'm  your  father,  and  must  know.  Macon  says  that 
you  love  him,  and  that  you  all  want  to  get  married.  Is  that 
so?" 

The  tears  had  come  now,  the  brave  little  heroine  could 
hold  them  in  no  longer.  I  saw  two  big  ones  come  rolling 
down  her  cheeks,  and  the  long  lashes  were  all  wet  and 
heavy. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  she  sobbed. 

Then  I  could  restrain  myself  no  longer.  I  jumped  up, 
and  ran  and  caught  her  in  my  arms,  and  kissed  the  little 
pale  face  all  wet  with  tears.  Her  bravery  was  all  gone  now : 
she  was  completely  overcome ;  and  she  rested  her  head  on 
my  shoulder,  and  sobbed  aloud.  I  glanced  up  at  the 
Colonel.  I  saw  him  quickly  turn  his  head  away,  and  wipe 
his  eyes,  and  then  he  commenced  to  pace  the  floor  quickly 
up  and  down. 

After  a  little  while,  he  stopped,  and  came  and  drew  up  a 
chair  by  us,  and  put  his  arm  around  his  daughter. 

"  And  you  love  him,  Anna?  "  he  asked. 

"Yes,  sir,"  she  sobbed  again,  and  then  transferred  her 
head  from  my  shoulder  to  her  father's.  The  Colonel  held 
her  close,  and  looked  very  grave. 

"  Macon,"  he  said,    "  I  cannot  give  her  up,  I  cannot 


MISTRESS    CARRINGTON    OF    VIRGINIA.  205 

think  of  it.  Would  you  take  away  my  one  joy  —  my  one 
prop  that  keeps  me  from  tumbling  in  the  grave?  " 

"  No,  sir;  I  would  not,"  I  answered,  scarcely  knowing 
what  I  said,  or  what  I  thought. 

"  And  yet,"  continued  the  Colonel,  as  though  he  had  not 
heard  me,  "  the  work  is  done  now  and  cannot  be  helped. 
A  new  element  has  entered  into  her  life.  I  at  last  realize 
that  she  is  a  young  woman,  and  that  henceforward  there  will 
have  to  be  something  else  besides  her  old  father  to  make  her 
life  complete  and  happy.  It  is  done  now,  Maeon,  and  I 
will  resign  myself  to  the  inevitable  laws.  You  have 
awakened  the  strongest  force  of  her  nature,  and  she  will 
never  be  happy  without  you.  Take  her,  my  son,  and  God 
bless  you  both." 

XI. 

In  a  few  days  I  returned  to  the  University.  I  applied 
myself  to  rny  studies  with  an  ardor  and  resolution  which 
knew  no  defeat.  The  professors  were  kind  enough  to  give 
me  some  special  examinations,  and  in  spite  of  my  long 
illness,  when  the  degrees  were  conferred  the  following  sum- 
mer, I  was  counted  among  the  elect,  and  walked  up  and 
took  mine  too. 

Early  in  the  fall,  Anna  and  I  were  married,  my  mother 
and  many  friends  coming  on  to  the  wedding.  After  some 
days  of  festivity  at  Huntington  Hall,  I  took  my  wife  to  our 
home,  Clinton  Mount,  and  the  Colonel  went  with  us.  It  had 
been  decided  that  he  was  to  spend  six  months  of  the  year 
with  us  at  Clinton  Mount,  and  the  other  six  months,  we 
were  to  spend  with  him  at  Huntington  Hall. 


206  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

One  afternoon,  some  two  months  after  we  had  settled  at 
Clinton  Mount,  my  mother  and  the  Colonel  came  in  from  a 
drive  to  the  Post  Office.  Both  Anna  and  I  noticed  that 
they  seemed  to  be  in  a  gale  of  good  spirits.  Before  they 
got  to  the  house,  we  heard  them  laughing  and  talking  like 
two  school  children.  All  that  evening,  they  were  as  gay  as 
you  please.  My  mother  laughing  and  teasing,  and  ^the 
Colonel  making  heavy  drafts  on  his  inexhaustible  fund  of 
jokes.  It  was  all  easily  explicable  the  next  morning  when 
they  called  us  into  the  parlor,  and  after  closing  the  door,  and 
drawing  the  blinds  most  mysteriously,  announced  to  us  in 
whispers  barely  audible,  that  they  were  engaged,  and  were 
to  be  married  in  a  very  short  time. 


"CAME  UPON  LAURA  DIGGING  VIOLETS. 


AFTER    ALL.  207 


AFTER  ALL. 

I. 

It  was  a  few  days  before  Christmas,  and  John  Ardslye 
was  shut  up  in  his  room  at  college.  Outside  he  could  hear 
the  shouts  of  his  fellow-collegians ;  —  the  football  team  had 
been  victorious  that  day — but  John  paid  little  attention  to 
the  fuss.  John  was  in  love  —  there  is  no  doubt  about  it  — 
and  he  was  writing  a  letter  to  send  along  with  the  present 
he  had  gotten  for  his  sweetheart.  Thrilled  with  the  afflatus 
of  his  passion,  he  wrote :  — 

"  What  shall  I  give  you  in  return  for  what  you  have  given  me  — 
you  who  have  given  me  your  pure  maiden  love,  your  heart,  your 
little  self:  you  who  have  given  me  faith  in  life,  faith  in  love,  faith 
in  God:  you  who  have  made  the  flowers  fairer,  the  birds'  songs 
more  sweet,  the  sunshine  brighter:  who  have  glorified  work,  and 
clothed  it  with  gladness  —  shod  the  long  hours  with  the  fleetness 
of  joy:  who,  with  a  look,  have  transformed  my  sordid  selfishness 
into  charity:  whose  eyes  have  illumed  even  the  heavy  shadows 
which  hang  about  the  grave,  and  made  the  star  of  hope  to  shine  in 
the  dark  valley  of  the  tomb:  —  who  have  answered  for  me  those 
ancient,  troublous  questions,  Why?  Whence?  Where?  and  solved 
their  riddle  with  the  single  word  —  Love. 

"And  these  words  are  written  for  you,  my  little  darling  —  for 
you  who  have  loved,  and  not  for  the  unthinking  and  flippant;  — 
not  for  the  idler,  the  skeptic,  the  cynic,  the  faithless,  but  for  you 
who  have  known  love's  paradoxical  mysteries,  its  pride  and  humility, 


208  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

Its  weakness  and  power,  its  faith  and  doubt,  its  splendid  agony,  its 
terrible  joy." 

Yes,  John  was  in  love ;  there  was  no  doubt  of  it. 

Several  times  the  current  of  his  thoughts  was  interrupted 
by  bangs  on  his  door  as  some  of  the  exulting  students  went 
by,  wondering  if  he  were  in.  But  John  gave  no  sign  to 
disclose  his  whereabouts  until  the  letter  was  finished  and 
sealed.  Then,  slipping  it  into  his  pocket  with  the  present, 
he  went  out  to  post  them.  Crossing  the  campus,  he  en- 
countered a  straggling,  laughing  and  shouting  group  of  the 
football  players.  They  were  in  great  glee,  the  exhilaration 
of  victory  having  been  supplemented  by  that  of  punch  which 
had  been  served  them  in  large  quantities  by  proud  admirers, 
immediately  after  the  game. 

"Hello,  Ardslye,"  they  called,  "  where've  you  been? 
Why  aren't  you  celebrating?  " 

Some  of  them  caught  his  hat  —  for  John  was  popular, 
and  knew  them  all  well — and  waved  it  in  the  air;  others 
slapped  him  on  the  shoulder,  and  the  big  center  rush  grabbed 
his  hand,  and  shook  it  so  violently  that  the  letter  and 
present  fell  from  John's  pocket. 

"Hello,  what  have  we  here !  "  said  the  center  rush,  stoop- 
ing and  picking  them  up.  "  Aha,"  he  continued,  as  he 
read  the  addresses,  —  "  I  see  —  Miss  Laura  Lane  —  what 
are  you  sending  her,  Johnnie,  my  boy?  Sweet,  is  she? 
and  pretty  of  course?  Got  it  bad,  have  you?  Say,  fellows, 
here's  fun  in  a  nut  shell ;  we  must  read  this  letter  and  see 
this  present,  even  if  they  don't  get  to  her  in  time  to  go  in 
her  stocking.  What  do  you  say  about  it,  John  ?  Don't  you 
think  you  can  give  us  a  set-up  to  a  banquet  of  your  mental 


AFTER    ALL.  209 

sweets  and  bonbons  after  we've  won  such  a  victory  for  you 
to-day?" 

John  got  very  red,  and  made  several  futile  attempts  to 
snatch  the  letter  and  parcel,  but  they  were  held  high  over 
the  head  of  the  big  center  rush  where  he  could  not  reach 
them. 

By  reason  of  his  great  size  and  strength,  and  great  good 
humor,  the  center  rush  was  usualty  a  privileged  person  to 
do  and  say  what  he  pleased  without  question.  The  merry 
crowd  now  stood  watching  him,  and  enjoying  the  joke  at 
the  expense  of  the  discomfited  Ardslye. 

"Here  goes,  then,  —  silence  gives  consent,"  said  the 
center  rush,  tearing  open  the  letter:  "hush  now,  fellows, 
while  I  read  it ;  and  you  had  better  take  lessons  from  it, 
because  some  of  you  might  be  in  John's  fix  some  day,  and 
then  you'd  have  a  good  recipe  for  the  making  of  a  senti- 
mental pudding  of  sweet  nonentities.  Here  she  goes, 
then :  —  '  My  dearest  Laura.'  ' 

He  got  no  farther ;  for  at  this  moment  John  broke  away 
from  the  two  men  who  had  been  delegated  to  hold  him,  and 
rushing  forward  struck  the  center  rush  in  the  face,  throwing 
his  entire  weight  and  strength  into  the  blow. 

John  was  of  good  size,  strong,  and  athletic  himself,  and 
his  blow  coming  unexpectedly  as  it  did,  and  squarely  be- 
tween the  eyes,  felled  the  center  rush  to  the  ground. 

There  was  a  general  commotion,  during  which  John  seized 
and  pocketed  his  letter  and  parcel.  In  a  moment  the  center 
rush  was  sitting  up,  and  looking  around,  still  somewhat 
dazed.  John  was  advised  to  flee  before  the  giant  recovered 
himself  ;  but  he  stood  his  ground. 

14 


210  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

Then,  as  his  rnind  cleared,  the  center  rush  got  up  and 
walked  over  to  John,  who  stood,  pale,  but  looking  him 
unflinchingly  in  the  eye.  Every  one  expected  one  knock-out 
blow  for  John,  but  they  were  mistaken.  The  center  rush 
grasped  his  hand  and  shook  it. 

"  That  was  a  good  one  you  gave  me,"  he  said,  "  and  you 
were  right.  I  was  a  little  too  gay,  and  went  too  far  ;  but 
you've  sobered  me  up  now.  I  didn't  know  it  was  such  a 
serioug  thing  either  —  thought  maybe  it  was  just  a  little 
flirtation,  and  that  you  wouldn't  mind  it  much,  and  would 
take  it  good-humoredly,  considering  we  are  all  out  for  a  lark. 
But  I  see  now  I  made  a  mistake,  and  am  glad  I  got  hauled 
up  for  it.  Come  on  and  join  our  party.  It's  all  right  now, 
isn't  it,  Ardslye,  old  man?" 

"O,  yes,"  John  answered,  "it's  all  right  now;  let's 
forget  it.  Go  ahead  —  I'll  have  to  run  back  and  get  another 
envelope,  but  I'll  overtake  you  in  a  minute." 

"  I'm  glad  he  read  no  further,"  John  thought  to  himself, 
as  he  ran  back  to  his  room,  and  again  put  the  letter  in  a  con- 
dition to  be  mailed,  —  "yes,  as  he  said,  it  is  a  serious 
thing — Hove  her;  she  loves  me;  and  for  her  sake  I  would 
fear  to  do  nothing." 

II. 

John  Ardslye  was  at  this  time  a  young  man  in  his  twenty- 
first  year.  He  had  spent  most  of  his  life  before  going  to 
college  at  his  father's  country  home,  and,  though  clever, 
his  knowledge  of  the  world  was  neither  broad  nor  acute. 
His  father  was  a  practical  man  of  modest  means,  good  birth 


AFTER    ALL.  211 

and  breeding,  and  with  high  hopes  of  the  future  career  of  his 
only  child  John. 

There  was  a  man  named  Lane  living  as  a  tenant  on  Mr. 
Ardslye's  farm,  with  his  f amity  consisting  of  wife  and 
daughter.  This  daughter,  Laura,  had  been  the  chief  com- 
panion and  playmate  of  John's  childhood  and  youth ;  and 
she  it  was  to  whom  the  letter  was  addressed. 

As  John  and  Laura  grew  up  together  it  was  natural  that 
love  should  have  developed  between  them.  When  children, 
they  had  spent  days  together  roaming  in  the  woods ;  gather- 
ing wild  flowers ;  sharing  each  other's  lunch ;  wading  in 
the  brook,  and  catching  the  silvered  minnows  with  pin  and 
worm. 

Time  passed,  and  John  sprang  up[into  a  tall,  dark-eyed, 
handsome  youth,  and  Laura  into  a  lithe,  graceful  maiden  of 
the  blonde  type,  having  big  blue  eyes,  full  of  intelligence, 
but  with  a  child-like,  confiding,  inuocency  of  expression. 
Then  they  read  and  talked  together  as  two  children  of  nature. 
John,  being  two  years  her  senior,  had  much  influence  in  the 
molding  of  Laura's  character.  He  was  fond  of  books,  and 
she  became  fond  of  them  too.  He  had  notions  of  lofty 
ideals,  and  in  a  way  they  were  impressed  upon  her.  She 
became  superior  to  her  blood  and  raising  —  her  parents  were 
of  plain,  unrefined  origin  —  in  instincts  and  culture.  As 
she  grew  older  her  character  became  one  of  simple  strength, 
gentle  confidence,  and  unsophisticated  intelligence;  and, 
when  the  dawn  of  love  shot  its  glorious  radiance  through 
her  soul,  she  believed  that  it  was  all  in  all  —  the  breath,  the 
motive,  the  mission  of  life. 

John,  being  well  up  in  the  teens,  his  father  had  sent  him 


212  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

off  to  college.  Mr.  Ardslye  had  noticed  the  relations 
existing  between  John  and  Laura,  but  deemed  it  nothing  of 
moment.  "Puppy  love,"  he  called  it,  and  thought  that 
when  his  son  left  for  college  that  would  be  the  last  of  it. 
But  returning  in  the  summer,  and  for  several  consecutive 
summers,  John  found  that  the  separation  instead  of  lessen- 
ing, had  made  stronger  and  deeper  his  love  for  Laura. 

So  it  was  that  the  summer  of  his  graduation  —  the  sum- 
mer next  after  the  fight  with  the  center  rush — young 
Ardslye  again  returned  home.  He  found  Laura  had  grown 
more  beautiful  since  he  saw  her  last,  and  he  speedily  renewed 
his  fond  association  with  her.  Often  would  he  and  she 
meet  in  the  orchard  between  their  homes,  and  there  read  and 
talk  through  the  long  summer  days.  Each  was  now  more 
or  less  timid  in  the  other's  presence :  their  love  was  so  great 
they  feared  it,  and  felt  awed. 

After  some  weeks,  John  being  determined  on  marriage, 
spoke  to  his  father  of  it.  He  had  delayed  this  as  long  as 
possible,  as  he  knew  his  sire  would  not  be  likely  to  tolerate 
such  an  idea.  Still  it  had  to  be  done,  as  John  was  penni- 
less, and  had  no  start  in  the  world,  and  without  the  parental 
sanction,  mad  in  love  as  he  was,  he  saw  that  marriage  was 
well-nigh  an  impossibility. 

They  were  sitting  in  the  library  reading,  one  night,  and 
John  laid  down  his  book,  and  said :  - 

"  Father,  Laura  and  I  want  to  get  married  right  away." 

Mr.  Ardslye  put  down  his  paper  at  once,  and  looked  at 
John  over  his  glasses,  raising  his  eyebrows,  and  stretching 
his  eyes,  but  saying  nothing. 

"  Yes,  Father,  you  know  how  we  love  each  other." 


AFTER    ALL.  213 

"  Gracious  me!  Mercy  on  us!  has  it  come  to  that,  my 
son?  "  said  Mr.  A.rdslye  in  a  tone  expressive  of  ridicule  and 
disgust.  "Well,  well,"  he  continued,  "this  comes  as  a 
shock  and  surprise,  indeed — I  had  a  better  opinion  of  your 
intelligence,  my  son,  than  to  ever  think  you  would  dream 
of  taking  such  a  step.  I  knew,  it  is  true,  that  you  were 
somewhat  infatuated  with  the  girl,  but  the  possibility  of 
your  ever  wishing  to  marry  her  never  occurred  to  me. 
What's  the  matter  with  you  —  are  you  speaking  seriously? 
Or  have  you  gone  crazy  ? ' ' 

"  No,  but  I  love  her,  and  I'm  going  to  marry  her." 

"Pshaw!  Nonsense!  You  are  too  old,  and  have  too 
much  sense  to  talk  like  that.  I  suppose  you  want  to  de- 
grade yourself  and  me  —  to  give  up  all  your  chances  in  life 
of  making  something  of  yourself  —  you  want  to  be  a  nin- 
compoop—  the  victim  of  a  silly,  boyish  passion,  and  tie 
yourself  irretrievably,  body  and  soul,  to  that  plain,  simple, 
and  designing  daughter  of  a  bumpkin,  do  you?  I'd  have 
more  pride  —  more  self-respect,  my  son,  than  to  be  taken  in 
and  gulled,  and  blinded  in  such  a  manner." 

"  Yes,  but  I  love  her,  and  she  loves  me :  is  not  love  worth 
it  all  —  is  it  not  the  best  in  life?  Were  I  to  become  a  king 
by  losing  her,  I  would  not  feel  repaid ;  I  would  not  be 
happy." 

'  'Love  —  love  —  nothing  but  love :  that  everlasting  tommy- 
rot  of  young  people :  that's  the  matter  with  you.  What  a 
pity  we  cannot  inoculate  against  it  —  what  a  pity  we  have 
no  virus  to  make  young  innocents  immune  to  the  pest,  to 
this  mental  contagion  and  infection  called  love.  Or  if  they 
must  have  it,  there  should  be  an  asylum  or  pest  house 


214  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

where  all  afflicted  with  the  epidemic  should  be  quarantined, 
and  have  drastic  treatment  till  they  are  cured  of  their 
aberrations. 

"  My  son,  love  is  a  malady  which,  like  measles  and 
whooping  cough,  youth  is  peculiarly  subject  to.  As  Diog- 
enes said,  it  is  fit  business  for  an  idle  person.  It  is  a 
luxury,  a  folly,  a  dissipation,  a  delusion  which  men  with  the 
work  of  the  world  on  their  shoulders  cannot  afford  to  in- 
dulge in.  Leave  it  to  children,  and  idle,  sentimental 
women.  It  is  a  deception  which  nature  practices  on  the 
young  and  unwary —  a  mild  form  of  madness  which,  in  this 
age  of  reason  and  practicality,  should  be  ruled  out  of  our 
thoughts,  eschewed  and  ridiculed.  I  know  what  it  is.  I 
speak  from  experience.  I  had  the  disease  myself  when  I 
was  your  age.  Thank  Heaven  I  did  not  plunge  blindly  in, 
as  you  wish  to  do,  and  blight  all  my  prospects  chasing  that 
will-o'-wisp  called  Cupid.  Love  is  a  plant  which  grows 
rankly  and  waywardly  in  the  soil  of  young,  inexperienced 
minds :  it  is  not  a  perennial  —  not  even  an  annual ;  it  lasts 
for  but  a  moon,  and  that  the  honey-moon. 

' '  Your  mother  and  I  get  along  very  well  together  —  bet- 
ter than  most  couples,  I  warrant: -we  have  little  spats 
occasionally,  but  nothing  of  a  serious  nature ;  and  yet  our 
union  was  not  what  one  would  term  a  love  match.  Don't 
understand  me  to  say  that  our  marriage  was  altogether  one 
of  policy  —  far  from  it.  We  respected,  trusted,  even 
admired  each  other  before  marriage  ;  but  what  I  mean  to  say 
is  that  we  did  not  labor  under  that  unfortunate  and  illusory 
state  which  you  are  now  in,  and  which  bears  the  respectable 
name  of  love,  but  should  be  called  juvenile  insanity.  After 


AFTER   ALL.  215 

marriage,  being  in  circumstances  which  necessitated  little 
friction  of  the  domestic  and  economic  machinery,  our  mu- 
tual admiration  and  respect  increased  from  day  to  day,  and 
a  more  sensible,  more  real,  and  more  stable  affection  and 
regard  gradually  grew  up  between  us ;  and  to-day  we  are 
comfortable  and  contented  while  many  of  the  actors  in  a 
love-marriage-drama,  or  rather,  tragedy,  whom  I  might 
name,  are  suing  for  divorces,  or,  what  is  more  deplorable, 
living  together  in  mutual  unhappiness. 

"  Yes,  my  son,  take  my  advice,  and  let  love  be  the  last 
thing  }-ou  marry  for.  A  man  can't  make  a  sensible  match 
when  he  is  in  love,  unless  he  does  it  by  chance.  And  the 
result  of  matrimony,  my  boy,  is  too  serious  a  thing  to  be 
left  to  the  vagaries  of  chance.  If  you  happen  to  be  in  love 
with  a  woman  who  will  make  you  a  desirable  wife,  it  is  all 
very  well  —  no  harm  can  come  of  it ;  but  for  gracious'  sake 
don't  marry  because  of  that  love.  If  you  find  yourself  in 
love,  immediately  become  alarmed  —  consider  yourself  a 
monomaniac,  a  person  non  compos  mentis  as  regards  your 
inamorata  and  any  possible  alliance  with  her.  Consult 
your  friends  true  and  tried,  taking  care  that  they  be  not 
likewise  afflicted  with  your  distemper,  and  if  they,  seeing 
things  in  a  reasonable  light,  think  the  match  expedient  — 
then  congratulate  yourself,  and  go  ahead  and  marry  her  if 
you  can.  The  love  may  make  things  pleasanter  for  a  month 
or  two,  if  it  doesn't  make  a  simpering  fool  of  you,  as  I  have 
known  it  to  do  with  many  a  callow  young  man.  Love  is  an 
excellent  sauce  for  the  brief  banquet  of  the  honey -moon,  but 
for  the  many  matter-of-fact  dinners  of  after  life  which  we 
all  must  eat,  take  reason,  my  boy,  take  reason  and  practical 


216  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

common  sense,  and  you  will  find  them  in  the  long  run  much 
safer  and  more  wholesome  condiments  in  the  matrimonial 
cuisine." 

"  O,  you  can  never  have  loved,  Father,  or  you  couldn't 
talk  in  that  cold,  calculating,  unfeeling  way:  you  have 
never  loved  as  I  do  now,  when  my  whole  being  cries  out,  and 
bears  witness  that  love  is  the  highest  end  of  life.  You 
never  have  known  it  in  its  true,  pure,  and  noble  inspiration, 
if  you  can  talk  like  that." 

"  Tut,  tut,  bosh  and  fiddlesticks!  Poor  fellow! — you 
have  it  bad  —  you  have  a  typical  case  —  every  symptom,  — 
reason  gone>  delirium,  high  temperature,  hallucinations  and 
phantasmagoria,  beatific  visions  and  ideas  about  the  omnip- 
otence and  eternity  of  love,  and  crazy  impractical  notions 
about  high  ideals,  heroism,  sacrifice,  and  so  on.  Yes,  my 
son,  you  have  it  bad ;  and  the  worst  feature  of  your  disease 
is  that  they  who  have  it  never  want  to  get  rid  of  it,  and  pay 
no  heed  to  the  wise  advice  of  physicians  and  counsellors. 
Your  ailment  is  as  befuddling  as  opium,  as  intoxicating 
as  whiskey,  and  more  dangerous  than  both.  It  has 
caused  more  young  men  to  fail  in  life  than  those  two 
combined.  Listen  to  me  when  I  tell  you  that  you  are  sim- 
ply the  dupe  of  old  Nature :  she  has  her  ends  in  view,  and 
she  practises  her  deceptions  on  the  young  and  inexperienced. 
When  persons  arrive  at  my  time  of  life  they  are  not  fooled 
by  her  tricks,  and  showy,  catchy  misrepresentations.  They 
become  cool  and  reasonable,  and  don't  let  that  stupefying 
little  Cupid  lead  them  a-dance.  Young  men  lose  a  great  deal 
of  valuable  time  dallying  with  love.  If  they  would  just 
start  out  and  take  it  as  a  plain,  ordinary  affair,  and  second- 


AFTER   ALL.  217 

ary  consideration,  taking  it  as  a  matter  of  course  like  they 
take  their  dinners  and  the  other  natural  and  accustomed 
details  of  life :  — if  they  would  just  take  it  as  men  past  fifty 
do,  they'd  succeed  much  better  in  life. 

"  Also,  my  son,  you  want  to  make  a  good  start  in  life  be- 
fore you  marry  ;  thirty  years  of  age  is  plenty  of  time.  You 
will  have  passed  through  the  first  and  most  violent  stage  of 
youthful  fever  then,  and  will  be  able  to  see  things  with 
clearer  vision.  Hasty  marriages  contracted  in  youth  are 
often  as  fatal  to  success  and  happiness  as  a  chronic  disease. 
Marriage  is  a  grave  step,  my  boy,  and  should  be  taken  cir- 
cumspectly. Separate  from  that  girl,  and  in  a  year's  time 
you  will  see  the  wisdom  of  my  advice.  Marry  her,  and  you 
blight  all  your  prospects  and  all  my  hopes.  In  a  month  or 
two,  being  surfeited  with  love,  you  would  be  cursing  your 
folly  and  wishing  you  were  free  again.  Marry  her,  and 
you'll  go  down  to  her  level  —  you'll  lose  all  ambition  — 
you'll  settle  down  here  in  the  country  in  desuetude,  tied  to 
a  wife  who  in  the  nature  of  things  is  bound  to  prove  as  a 
leaden  weight  dragging  you  down  from  high  aspiration  and 
achievement. 

' '  You  say  she  is  a  good  girl  —  pretty  —  noble  —  sensible, 
and  all  that.  Perhaps  she  is —  I  don't  know ;  I  never  paid 
much  attention  to  her, — though,  of  course,  one  in  your 
condition  is  apt  to  exaggerate  the  facts,  and  multiply  her 
perfections  a  thousandfold.  Maybe  she  is  a  fine  young 
woman,  but  that  is  not  the  question  —  there  are  lots  of 
fine  women  in  the  world,  as  you  will  find  out  some  day  — 
just  lots  of  them,  and  pretty  too.  Make  your  way  in  the 
world,  and  you  will  have  no  difficulty  in  getting  one  worthy 


218  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

of  you,  —  worthy  in  intellect,  worthy  in  social  position, 
worthy  in  culture  and  breeding,  and  maybe  with  money, 
too,  —  who  knows  ? 

"  I  would  have  put  an  end  to  Lane's  tenancy  years  ago  if 
I  had  ever  dreamed  that  his  daughter  was  eventually  to  put 
my  son  under  such  a  spell,  and  make  an  ass  of  him. 

"  No,  my  son,  you  cannot  get  my  consent — you  must 
not  marry  her —  you  shall  not  marry  her  if  I  can  prevent  it. 
I  will  give  the  girl  a  talk  myself ;  and  if  you  were  to  remain 
here  I'd  soon  get  her  out  of  the  way ;  but  you  must  go  out 
into  the  world  and  make  a  name  for  yourself.  This  affair 
must  be  broken  up :  you  must  leave  right  away :  I  will  see 
to  it.  I  have  high  hopes  of  you,  and  they  shall  not  be 
thwarted.  Your  career  shall  not  be  nipped  in  the  bud  by  a 
silly  little  country  girl." 

III. 

The  next  day  John,  heavy-hearted,  and  wishing  to  be 
alone,  started  for  the  small  lake  a  mile's  distance  through 
the  fields  and  woods,  to  fish,  to  think,  to  compose  himself, 
and,  if  possible,  to  determine.  He  wished  to  see  Laura,  but  he 
feared  to  do  so  until  he  had  weighed  well  his  father's  words. 
Having  been  trained  in  a  due  appreciation  of  filial  duty,  and 
of  the  respect  due  the  wisdom  of  parental  advice,  his  father's 
words  could  but  have  their  influence  with  him.  All  the 
morning,  and  the  better  part  of  the  night  he  had  vacillated 
and  questioned,  trying  to  decide,  but  never  doing  so.  His 
father  had  arranged  it  all  for  him  —  that  he  was  to  leave  the 
next  day,  and  was  even  then  having  his  things  packed  for 


AFTER    ALL.  219 

him ;  —  but    John    had    not   determined,    and   could    not 
determine. 

It  was  useless  for  him  to  fish :  he  absent-mindedly  threw 
his  hook  into  the  water  without  any  bait  on  it,  and  sat 
dreaming  in  the  boat. 

At  length  he  could  stand  it  no  longer :  he  must  see  her : 
she  would  answer  all  questions,  dispel  alKioubts.  He  got 
up,  dropped  the  rod  in  the  boat,  and  started  back,  taking  a 
circuitous  path  which  would  bring  him  up  in  the  rear  of 
Laura's  home. 

Lane's  house  sat  out  on  the  edge  of  a  clearing.  Back  of 
it  there  was  a  beautiful  forest  glade  full  of  moss,  ferns,  and 
violets.  Through  this  a  little  stream  ran  singing  and  purling 
over  pebbles  and  yellow  sand.  Passing  through  the  glade, 
John  came  upon  Laura  digging  violets. 

Each  started,  seeing  the  other.     She  spoke  first. 

"I  saw  your  father  this  morning;  he  told  me  you  were 
going  to-morrow:  I  hoped  I  would  not  see  you  any  more." 

"  Hoped  you  would  not  see  me  any  more?" 

"Yes." 

"  Why?" 

"  O,  don't  ask  me."  And  there  was  a  wail,  and  a  sob, 
and  a  heart  full  of  anguish  in  the  words.  "  I  cannot  stay 
here  with  you,"  she  continued, —  "  I  must  not  —  I  must  go 
home." 

He  saw  the  tears  in  her  eyes  as  she  turned  to  go. 

"  Laura,"  he  cried,  rushing  forward  and  catching  her  in 
his  arms,  —  "you  shall  not  go  —  you  must  stay  here  and  see 
me,  and  let  me  talk  with  you." 

"  It  will  do  no  good,"  she  said, —  "  let  me  go." 


220  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

"  No,  I  will  not  till  you  promise  to  stay,  and  talk  with  me 
a  little  while.  Do  you  promise?  " 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  I'll  have  to." 

"Then  sit  down  here  by  me,  and  let's  talk.  You  have 
seen  my  father,  you  say?  " 

"  Yes,  we  had  a  long  talk,  and  I  promised  him  I  would 
not  see  you  any  more  before  you  left." 

' '  '  Before  I  left ! '  —  and  have  I  said  I  was  going  yet  ? 
Laura,  I  cannot  go  —  I  cannot  leave  you  —  I  will  not !  We 
will  be  married,  and  that  right  away." 

"No,  John,"  she  said  firmly,  "we  will  not.  I  cannot, 
and  will  not  marry  you  —  I  love  you  too  well  to  do  it. 
Your  father  is  right ;  you  would  throw  your  life  away  were 
you  to  marry  me.  You  shall  never  do  it." 

' '  You  say  you  will  not  marry  me  because  you  love  me  too 
well!  —  that's  no  reason.  Even  if  what  my  father  says  be 
true,  yet  I  am  willing  to  make  the  sacrifice  —  I  want  to 
make  it.  I  am  willing  to  sacrifice  all  hopes,  all  ambitions 
on  the  altar  of  love.  -Family,  pride,  fame,  wealth — what- 
ever share  I  have,  or  hope  to  have,  in  these  things  I  am 
ready  to  yield,  if  need  be,  for  the  sake  of  love." 

"  You  think  so  now,  but  were  I  to  marry  you  —  were  I 
to  consent — in  a  little  while  you  would  regret  it.  You  are 
now  blinded  with  a  passion  which  I  know  and  believe  to  be 
deep,  true,  and  sincere,  but,  I  fear,  not  lasting.  In  a  little 
while  its  warmth  and  enthusiasm  might  cool  —  your  eyes 
would  be  opened  —  you  would  regret  bitterly  the  step  you 
had  taken ;  and  your  life  would  be  blighted.  I  know  you 
would  always  love  me —  always  be  kind  and  gentle  ;  but  it 
would  not  be  the  same  love  as  that  you  feel  for  me  to-day. 


AFTER    ALL.  221 

It  would  be  the  love  of  duty  —  the  love  of  pity  —  the  love  of 
a  nature  that  resignedly  makes  the  best  of  a  result  which  itself 
has  brought  about  —  the  love  of  a  resolute  will  striving  to 
throw  a  glamour  over  its  destiny  manifestly  dark. 

"  No,  John,  it  must  not  be :  I  love  you  too  much  for  it. 
I  love  you  deeply,  passionately,  truly ;  but  my  nature  is 
not  as  impulsive  as  yours.  You  allow  your  judgment  to  be 
swept  away  on  the  high  tide  of  your  emotions  and  impulses, 
and  looking  at  the  pleasures  of  the  present,  you  would  take 
rash  steps,  forgetting  the  resultant  ills  of  the  future." 

"  What  shall  we  do,  then?  "  he  said,  —  "we  love  each 
other  —  what  shall  we  do  ?  Cursed  be  the  social  conditions 
and  customs  which  keep  lovers  apart.  Shall  we  obey  the 
mandates  of  nature,  or  of  man?  —  which  is  the  higher 
law?  Human  laws,  and  human  customs  —  they  are  well 
enough  where  the  exigencies  of  society  require  them  — 
necessitate  them.  But  they  are  for  the  governance  and 
maintenance  of  the  politic,  and  not  the  individual  body. 
Without  them  the  social  organism  would  be  a  chaos.  But 
you  and  I,  here  in  this  Arcadia  —  in  this  quiet  corner  of 
the  world  —  why  should  we  be  amenable  to  other  laws  than 
nature's  —  than  God's?  Love,  and  its  fulfilment  is  God's 
law  ;  shall  we  obey  it  or  man's  institutions?  " 

' '  What  do  you  mean  ?  ' ' 

He  slipped  his  arm  around  her,  and  looked  into  her  eyes. 

"  What  do  I  mean?  —  I  scarcely  know  what  I  mean.  I 
know  but  one  thing  now,  Laura ;  I  know  but  one  word  — 
love  —  love." 

He  kissed  her  once,  twice,  again.  They  kiss  once  — 
long. 


222  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

And  human  nature,  youth,  and  love  is  too  much  for  them. 
They  pluck  the  golden  fruit  of  sin.  They  fall. 

The  shades  of  evening  darken  as  they  go  homeward.  She 
weeps  silently :  he  has  his  arm  about  her. 

"  Now,  I  will  marry  you,"  he  says  ;  "  I'll  have  to,  and 
I  want  to." 

"  No,  never,"  she  answers;  "  I  will  repent;  I  shall  be 
forgiven.  No  harm  will  come  of  it.  I  sinned  —  you  sinned, 
but  it  was  because  of  love.  There  was  no  evil  in  our  hearts. 
We  listened  to  the  voice  of  love  and  nature,  and  they  cried 
so  loud,  we  heard  not  the  still,  small  voice.  I  am  sure  no 
harm  will  come  of  it.  You  go  into  the  world,  and  achieve 
wealth  and  fame,  and  leave  me  and  forget  me." 

They  had  now  reached  the  gate  that  led  into  the  yard  of 
her  humble  home.  The  voice  of  a  distant  whippoorwill 
came  in  a  sweet  mellow  monotony  from  the  dark  forest.  A 
crescent  moon,  and  a  bright  evening  star  shone  in  the  west 
as  bright  brooches  in  the  twilight's  lambent  veil.  The  dog 
ran  out  barking,  but  stopped  as  he  quickly  knew  them.  A 
gentle  southern  breeze  brought  them  the  fragrance  of  bloom- 
ing honeysuckle.  Instinctively,  they  stopped  at  the  gate. 
Both  felt  it  was  a  crisis  in  their  lives ;  both  felt  that  for 
each  it  was  a  moment  pregnant  with  an  eternity  of  meaning. 
Thus  they  stood  for  some  moments,  neither  speaking,  but 
with  swelling  hearts,  and  souls  full  of  inexpressible  thoughts 
and  feelings.  They  felt  borne  away  from  the  surrounding 
realities  —  borne  out,  beyond,  far  away  into  the  infinities  of 
being,  into  the  illimitable  circuits  of  destiny.  John  drew 
her  closer  to  him. 

"  I  will  go,"  he  whispered  ;  "  but  I  shall  come  back  soon. 


AFTER    ALL.  223 

Success  can  but  come  quickly  to  me  when  I  work  for  you  — 
when  I  remember  this  moment.  Wait  for  me:  we  are  young 
yet :  in  five  years  I  shall  be  able  to  defy  the  criticism  of  the 
world." 

Thus  spoke  the  sanguine  blood  of  youth.  Thus  spoke 
the  intoxicated  blood  of  love.  Thus  spoke  the  young  heart 
which  knew  not  the  ways  of  the  world  and  life. 

He  bowed  his  head,  and  the  lips  of  the  young  lovers  met, 
and  their  souls  leapt  together  in  a  farewell  kiss. 

John  thought  great  things  as  he  walked  home.  His  senses 
and  emotions  were  still  in  a  tumult.  At  one  time  he  would 
stop  and  kneel  beneath  the  stars,  and  pray  with  a  deep, 
yearning  humility.  What  he  prayed  he  could  not  have  told ; 
for  the  prayer  was  felt  rather  than  spoken  or  thought. 
Again,  he  would  clench  his  fist  in  some  wild  impulsive  de- 
termination or  resolution  ;  while  again  he  would  walk  rapidly 
along  whistling  merrily,  and  with  buoyant  hopes.  Such  is 
the  young  heart. 

Laura  stood  looking  up  at  the  starry  skies  for  some  time 
after  John  had  gone.  In  her  bosom,  too,  were  great  con- 
flicting emotions.  Now  big  tears  welled  up  in  her  eyes,  so 
that  the  stars  seemed  to  swim  and  flicker  in  the  heavens. 
Then  a  great  softness,  a  great  tenderness,  seemed  to  swell 
in  her  soul,  embracing  all  the  universe,  all  eternity.  Anon, 
and  her  heart  seemed  to  shrink,  and  wither  away  ;  the  foun- 
tains of  her  tears  ran  dry ;  her  feelings  seemed  acrid ;  her 
soul  bitter.  She  felt  as  if  a  great  cloud  of  sorrow,  dark 
and  smothering,  rolled  over  her  being.  After  awhile  she 
brushed  the  tears  away,  and  composing  her  features  as  best 
she  could,  turned  towards  the  door. 


224  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

Inside,  the  humble  supper  was  spread,  and  her  father  and 
mother,  seated  at  opposite  ends  of  the  plain  wooden  table, 
were  partaking  of  it.  They  did  not  even  look  up  as  she 
came  in  and  took  her  seat  at  the  side  of  the  table.  They 
were  stolid,  indifferent  persons,  with  unimaginative  minds 
contracted  and  hardened  by  lives  of  pleasureless  toil.  After 
Laura  had  helped  herself  to  the  simple  fare,  and  was  making 
pretense  to  eat,  they  both  looked  up  at  her  as  though  think- 
ing of  her  for  the  first  time  since  she  entered. 

"  What  makes  you  so  late?  and  what's  the  matter  with 
you?  "  her  father  asked. 

"  Nothing;  the  evening  was  pleasant,  and  I  came  along 
slowly." 

"  Been  with  John  Ardslye  again,  haven't  you?  " 

"  Yes,  I  saw  him." 

"  And  you  have  been  crying.  What  did  he  do  to  make 
you  cry  ?  ' ' 

"Nothing." 

This  was  all  that  was  said  at  the  table  ;  and  save  for  the 
clatter  of  the  crockery  and  knives  and  forks,  the  meal 
proceeded  silently  to  its  end. 

During  the  interrogatories,  Laura's  mother  never  raised 
her  eyes  from  her  plate,  or  showed  in  any  way  that  she  was 
interested.  She  wore  a  set,  sphinx-like  expression  which 
seldom  changed,  and  her  movements  were  always  those  of 
an  automaton.  To  all  appearances  she  might  have  been  a 
piece  of  machinery  constructed  for  the  performance  of 
domestic  duties,  and  endowed  with  no  faculties  other  than 
were  necessary  for  that  purpose. 

Both  Laura's   father  and  mother  knew    that  there  were 


AFTER    ALL.  225 

relations  existing  between  young  Ardslye  and  their  daughter. 
Just  what  those  relations  were  they  probably  did  not  know, 
nor  put  themselves  to  sufficient  mental  effort  to  find  out. 
Whatever  the  relationship  was,  and  whatever  its  results, 
they  thought  they  could  not  lose  seriously;  while  great 
benefits  might  redound  to  them  from  it.  Of  family  pride 
they  had  none,  and  to  have  their  name  coupled,  even  by 
scandal,  with  that  of  the  most  cultured  and  highly  respect- 
able young  man  of  the  neighborhood  was  considered  by 
them  more  of  an  honor  than  a  disgrace.  Then,  even  if  the 
worst  came,  they  had  vague  ideas  about  the  efficacy  of  the 
law  in  enforcing  marriage  or  a  pecuniary  atonement.  There 
were  the  possibilities  of  blackmail,  too;  and  all  things  being 
considered,  the  relationship,  whatever  it  might  be,  was  to 
be  encouraged  rather  than  interfered  with.  It  was  also 
possible,  they  thought,  that  the  young  man's  intentions 
were  solely  those  of  honorable  marriage  ;  for  they  were  con- 
scious of  how  superior  their  daughter  was  to  themselves,  by 
reason  of  her  wide  reading  and  refined  tastes ;  acd  as  par- 
ents always  see  their  children's  merits  very  much  magni- 
fied, they  thought  it  probable  that  Laura  might  marry  far 
above  her  station  in  life.  So  they  had  winked  at  rather 
than  restrained  her  keeping  company  with  John. 

IV. 

The  following  day  John  leaves  for  a  great  northern  city ; 
he  opens  an  office  for  the  practice  of  his  profession,  and 
though  of  moderate  means,  his  good  looks,  refinement,  cul- 

15 


226  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

turc  and  talents  are  immediate  passports  to  the  best  circles 
of  society. 

As  time  goes  on,  he  loses  in  large  part  his  natiye  sterling 
and  original  depth  of  character  and  integrity,  and  becomes 
polished,  but  more  superficial  and  worldly,  like  many  young 
society  men  raised  in  a  great  city.  Yet  there  still  slumbers 
in  his  heart  some  sparks  of  the  old  fires :  at  intervals  they 
glow,  and  warm,  and  flicker,  sending  a  thrill  of  sweet,  sad 
yearning  through  his  spirit.  Of  evenings  when  he  had  re- 
turned from  a  ball  he  would  sometimes  sit  before  his  fire 
and  smoke,  and  dream  a  while.  The  glamour  of  the  ball 
room  had  faded  ;  the  gilt  and  garish  excitement  was  gone ; 
and  the  old  visions  and  ideals  would  rise  up  before  him. 
As  he  mused  in  the  dim  light  and  quiet  of  his  room,  half 
awake,  half  asleep,  he  would  fancy  that  he  saw  the  face  of 
Laura  floating  in  the  smoke  before  him  —  dim ,  uncertain , 
but  beautiful  and  sorrowful.  He  would  see  her  as  she  was 
when  they  were  children  together,  just  in  their  teens,  play- 
ing and  romping  round  the  straw-stacks,  and  roaming  the 
woods  and  fields.  There  was  the  little  peach-blow  face 
with  its  clear  blue  eyes,  and  carmine  lips  with  their  childish 
pout.  There  was  the  maze  of  tousled  gold  hair  floating  in 
a  wanton  aureole  about  her  head. 

Then  the  smoke  would  waver,  and  the  face  vanish  to  re- 
appear as  it  was  some  years  later.  Now  it  was  maturer, 
but  still  with  all  the  naive  beauty  and  innocence  of  a  child. 
The  eyes  were  deeper,  and  love  spoke  from  them.  The  face 
had  an  expression  of  deep,  conscious  joy.  So  she  had  been 
at  eighteen  when  first  love  bourgeoned  in  her  soul,  and  all 
the  latent  graces  of  her  being  quickened .  So  she  had  been 


AFTER    ALL.  227 

when  he,  too,  first  knew  what  love  was  —  when  he  had 
first  whispered  the  tender  words  in  her  ear,  awkward  and 
trembling,  yet  knowing  she  loved  him. 

Again  the  vision  changed,  and  there  was  her  face  as  he 
saw  it  last,  in  the  pale  moonlight  and  twilight,  white  and 
fearful,  but  fair,  and  full  of  confiding  hope.  There  she  was 
standing  before  the  door  of  the  lowly  home  into  which  he 
had  brought  shame :  there  she  was  after  the  crisis  of  her 
life,  full  of  undefined  fears,  but  strong  in  her  love  and  trust 
of  him.  And  he  —  well,  he  would  not  think  of  it:  no  good 
could  come  of  it.  He  would  go  to  bed.  It  was  but  a  silly 
misgiving  —  but  a  silly  doubt  which  rose  in  his  breast  as  to 
whether  he  had  thrown  away  the  best  in  life  —  whether  he 
had  sacrificed  life's  truest  blessings  on  the  altar  of  ambition. 
Was  he  not  successful?  Had  he  not  already,  in  a  measure, 
achieved  wealth  and  distinction?  Were  those  things  not 
worth  more  than  the  love  of  a  plain  country  girl?  Cer- 
tainly—  sed  quaere?  And  John  would  go  to  bed. 

In  the  morning  it  was  the  cold,  practical,  business  world 
again  ;  and  last  night's  dreams  were  not  worth  a  moment's 
thought. 

Heredity  may  furnish  the  material  for  the  character,  but 
it  is  environment  which  molds  and  shapes  it.  Heredity  and 
environment  —  these  are  the  potters  of  the  human  clay. 

John's  character  was  necessarily  affected  by  his  sur- 
roundings. Under  the  stress  of  condition  and  circumstance 
he  became  more  conventional,  more  mercenary. 

Thus  matters  tended  until  one  night  at  a  ball,  John  met 
Mrs.  Van  Bergen,  and  as  he  saw  more  of  this  lady,  she 


228  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

became  a  factor  in  his  life  and  began  to  exercise  a  strong 
influence  over  his  actions,  if  not  over  his  character. 

Mrs.  Van  Bergen  was  a  very  wealthy  and  pretty,  but  very 
frivolous  young  widow.  Violence  of  passions  and  emotions 
were,  her  only  characteristics  which  the  fickleness  of  her 
nature  did  not  render  uncertain.  If  there  was  any  stable 
quality  in  her  at  all,  it  was  her  love  of  excitement  and  sen- 
sation. She  possessed  the  love  of  sensation  as  the  one  con- 
stant star  in  a  mental  horoscope  of  comets  and  meteors. 

When  Mrs.  Van  Bergen  met  John  Ardslye,  with  her,  it 
was  love  at  first  sight  —  violent,  passionate  love.  He 
immediately  became  her  fad,  her  hobbj ,  her  latest  and  most 
delightful  source  of  pleasurable  excitement.  How  glorious 
it  was  to  be  in  love !  And  how  she  adored  him !  After  the 
ball  she  went  home  all  a-tingle  with  the  joyous  conscious- 
ness of  her  new  passion.  How  she  had  longed  to  be  in  love 
again  after  she  had  gotten  tired  of  her  husband;  and  how, 
after  his  death,  that  desire  had  been  quadrupled.  But  it 
was  something  which  money  could  not  buy,  and  all  her 
wealth  had  been  unavailing  to  purchase  the  thing  she  most 
desired.  And  now  it  had  come  unbidden,  and  unexpected. 
Life  was  worth  living  again.  She  would  feel  blase  no 
longer :  she  was  in  love.  How  joyous !  How  exhilarating ! 
She  would  revel  in  the  delectable  intoxication  of  her  new 
passion.  No  doubt  as  to  the  reciprocation  of  her  love 
entered  her  mind.  She  was  accustomed  to  having  her  own 
way,  and  enforcing  her  will  in  every  thing.  Her  beauty 
and  wealth  had  generally  cleared  her  path  of  all  obstacles 
except  those  imposed  by  her  own  nature.  She  did  not 
doubt  for  a  moment  but  that  he  would  love  her  too.  While 


AFTER    ALL.  229 

the  enthusiasm  of  her  moods  lasted  she  had  unbounded  con- 
fidence in  herself — a  confidence  which,  in  fact,  seldom 
failed  to  carry  her  points.  Of  course  he  would  love  her, 
too,  if  he  did  not  already.  He  could  not —  he  dare  not  do 
otherwise. 

For  a  long  time  Mrs.  Van  Bergen  lay  awake  while  such 
thoughts  rushed  through  her  heated  brain.  Then  she  fell 
asleep,  and  dreamed  of  John. 

The  next  day  she  gave  an  entertainment  at  her  own  house, 
a  few  select  friends  being  invited.  Really,  if  not  nominally, 
John  was  treated  as  the  guest  of  honor.  While  dancing 
with  him  the  preceding  night,  Mrs.  Van  Bergen  had  planned 
it  all,  quick  as  a  flash,  and  had  invited  him,  telling  him  that 
he  must  come,  and  that  she  would  hear  no  refusal.  John 
was  willing  enough,  and  was  promptly  on  hand.  Society 
in  the  city  held  it  a  great  privilege  to  be  the  guest  of  Mrs. 
Van  Bergen,  and  John  congratulated  himself  upon  his  easy 
entree  into  the  exclusive  circles.  It  did  not  take  him  long 
to  guess  the  cause  of  the  favor  shown  him.  Indeed,  Mrs. 
Van  Bergen  was  at  no  pains  to  conceal  it ;  and  after  the 
entertainment  at  her  house  it  was  the  talk  of  the  town. 
Her  attentions  to  John,  her  smiles,  and  graciousness 
towards  him  told  a  tale  which  was  unmistakable.  In  the 
course  of  the  evening,  she  got  him  off  in  a  secluded  nook, 
upon  a  cushioned  divan  behind  some  palms,  and  there  held 
a  lengthy  tete-a-tete  with  him,  while  the  rest  of  the  company 
was  left  under  the  auspicies  of  an  old  friend  who  took  the 
role  of  hostess. 

As  they  sat  together  in  the  subdued  light,  surrounded  by 
flowers,  while  the  strains  of  soft  sweet  music  seemed  to 


230  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

sound  a  reveille  to  gentle  pssslons,  John  looked  at  her, 
and  felt  a  thrill  very  like  love,  even  though  it  were  but  love 
of  the  moment.  She  looked  her  best  in  evening  dress, 
and  she  knew  it.  Her  neck,  and  arms,  and  shoulders  were 
perfect  —  smooth,  white,  and  rounded  as  though  cast  in 
Venus's  own  mold.  Were  love  fatal,  a  look  into  her  beau- 
tiful eyes,  then  brilliant  with  her  passion,  would  be  danger- 
ous. It  was  enough  to  make  the  brain  reel. 

John  sat  there  by  her  side,  talking  shop.  His  heart 
became  the  playground  of  conflicting  emotions.  It  was  not 
long  before  he  was  sure  of  her  infatuation  for  him,  and  he 
was  overwhelmed  with  the  suddenness  of  what  might  mean 
a  very  momentous  state  of  affairs  for  him.  He  was  em- 
barrassed, perplexed,  and  he  wanted  time  to  weigh  the  mat- 
ter in  his  mind.  One  moment  he  would  think  himself  in 
love  with  her  —  another,  and  she  would  seem  repellent  to 
him.  Then  the  great  possibilities  of  a  marriage  with  her 
would  flash  through  his  mind :  what  eclat,  what  success  it 
would  be. 

"  Suppose  we  go  and  try  that  waltz,"  he  said  presently, 
after  a  lull  in  the  conversation,  when  he  was  fearful  lest  she 
should  bring  on  some  crisis  which  he  was  not  yet  prepared  to 
meet. 

"  Don't  you  think  it  is  more  pleasant  sitting  here?  "  she 
said,  looking  up  into  his  eyes,  —  "  it  is  so  warm  dancing, 
and  if  I  dance  with  you  I  will  have  to  dance  with  others." 

"  And  don't  you  want  to  dance  with  others?  " 

"  No,  I  care  very  little  for  dancing,  anyhow.  I  think  it 
is  a  queer  custom — an  invention,  I  suppose,  by  fast  girls 
for  the  benefit  of  bashful  men.  I  don't  care  to  have  promis- 


AFTER    ALL.  231 

cuous  men  putting  their  arms  around  me  in  public ;  and  if  I 
like  a  man,  I  had  just  as  soon  he  do  it  in  private." 

"Do  you  like  me?  " 

She  did  not  reply,  but  looked  up  at  him  for  an  instant, 
and  then  let  her  eyes  fall  till  the  glorious  lashes  seemed  to 
sweep  her  cheek,  and  even  in  the  dim  light  John  could  see 
the  color  deepen  and  spread  on  her  face.  There  was  still- 
ness and  a  pause  for  a  moment;  and  then  he  silently  put  his 
arm  around  her. 

V. 

For  some  time  after  coming  to  the  city  John  had  kept  up 
a  correspondence  with  Laura.  At  first  it  was  three  letters  a 
week  he  sent  her :  then  two :  then  one ;  then  it  lapsed  into 
irregularity,  and  he  answered  her  letters  now  and  then 
when  he  had  nothing  else  to  do.  Gradually,  as  she  seemed 
to  recede  further  and  further  out  of  his  life,  he  stopped 
writing  to  her  altogether.  Letter  after  letter  came  from  her 
asking  him  what  was  the  matter.  Some  of  them  brought 
violets  from  the  woodland  glade  where  they  used  to  play ; 
one  brought  a  lock  of  her  hair;  and  others,  simple,  touching 
tokens  of  the  love  of  a  country  child. 

John  would  read  these  letters  and  stick  them  away  in  a 
private  drawer.  Not  one  did  he  ever  destroy,  or  leave  un- 
opened. Though,  as  his  knowledge  of  the  world  broadened, 
he  would  often  smile  as  he  read  some  of  their  tender,  unaf- 
fected passages.  Sometimes,  too,  he  would  feel  a  pang  of 
remorse,  or  a  tear  would  come  in  his  eye.  But  then  he 
would  persuade  himself  that  he  was  in  no  way  to  blame  for 
his  inconstancy.  Fate  had  marked  him  for  a  higher  des- 


232  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

tiny ;  his  father  had  been  right ;  and  it  was  his  duty  to 
strangle  the  love,  the  silly  passion,  which  would  not  ad- 
vance him  in  the  world. 

Finally  there  came  a  letter  —  the  last  she  ever  wrote  him  — 
telling  him  of  her  shame  —  of  her  approaching  motherhood. 
Thus  it  ran  in  part :  — 

"  I  have  been  fearing  it  for  some  time,  but  I  was  not  certain,  and 
said  nothing  of  it  to  you.  But  now  1  know  it,  and  every  one  else 
does.  My  father  has  been  cruel —  brutal —  to  me,  and  has  bidden 
me  leave  his  house.  I  go  to-morrow,  gladly  —  where,  I  know  not; 
but  I  have  become  an  outcast,  and  all  my  friends  now  scorn  me, 
and  look  upon  me  as  a  degraded  wietch.  In  my  heart  there  is  no 
sense  of  shame  —  I  loved  you —  I  love  you  still,  and  I  will  love  my 
child;  but  I  cannot  stand  the  contumely  of  my  friends  and  acquaint- 
ances. Do  not  think  that  I  am  unhappy,  or  that  I  would  say  any- 
thing to  make  you  unhappy.  We  followed  the  dictates  of  love, 
and  why  should  we  regret  it?  And  though  we  are  offenders  against 
the  laws  of  mankind,  I  believe  that  before  the  Highest  Tribunal 
we  stand  forgiven,  if  not  guiltless. 

"  I  will  always  pray  for  you;  I  will  always  love  you.  And  rest 
assured,  that  if  God  be  willing  your  child  shall  have  a  decent  rais- 
ing. While  I  live  it  shall  ne\er  need  anything  a  watchful  and 
loving  mother  can  give.  Deeper  than  the  sorrow  I  feel  because  I 
am  disgraced  in  the  eyes  of  the  world — deeper  than  any  impres- 
sion my  circumstances  and  surroundings  can  ever  make  upon  me, 
there  is  a  joy  in  my  heart.  1  will  always  hold  to,  and  cherish  the 
ideals  we  saw  and  strove  for  —  those  ideals  of  the  mind,  the  heart, 
and  the  soul  —  when  we  were  together  reading,  talking,  and 
rambling  through  the  woodlands,  and  always  under  first  love's 
hallowed  auspices.  If  the  memory  of  these  things  is  painful  to 
you,  forget  them.  I  will  ever  take  pride  and  pleasure  in  the  suc- 
cess and  fame  which  I  know  will  be  yours.  Your  success  will  be 
my  joy.  And  I  will  always  be  thankful  that  we  parted  unwed,  and 
that  I  am  not  as  a  stumbling  block  in  the  pathway  of  your  glorious 


AFTER    ALL.  233 

career  —  as  a  canker  in  the  heart  of  your  high  hopes  —  as  a  mor- 
tification to  your  noble  pride;  and  as  a  millstone  about  your 
neck,  dragging  you  down  from  the  course  of  high  endeavor. 
Good-bye." 

After  reading  this  letter,  John's  first  impulse  was  to  leave 
the  city  at  once,  giving  up  all  his  bright  prospects  in  life, 
and  go  and  seek  Laura,  marry  her,  and  settle  down  in  some 
quiet  nook  of  the  world,  in  peace  and  contentment,  could 
he  find  them.  There  was  little  chance  of  his  taking  this 
radical  course  if  he  hesitated,  and  hesitate  he  did. 

When  two  courses  lie  open  to  a  man,  the  one  an  extreme 
departure,  the  other  conservative  and  discreet,  he  will  seldom 
take  the  former  unless  he  acts  quickly  under  the  spur  of  the 
moment.  Let  there  be  deliberation,  reckoning,  and  weigh- 
ing, and  the  latter  course  will  be  taken. 

John  did  not  act  on  the  emotion  of  the  moment,  and  that 
emotion  soon  'grew  cool.  He  deferred  the  hasty  action 
prompted  by  sentiment  until  he  could  see  the  matter  in  the 
light  of  worldly  wisdom.  Having  seen  it  thus,  he  laughed 
at  himself  for  thinking,  even  for  an  instant,  of  taking  such 
a  step. 

Reason  and  sentiment  are  often  at  variance  ;  but  give  time 
and  room  for  reason  to  have  its  play,  and  it  will  generally 
come  out  conqueror. 

John  thought  of  his  engagement,  and  approaching  mar- 
riage with  Mrs.  Van  Bergen ;  he  thought  of  the  dazzling 
brilliancy  of  the  career  he  had  entered  upon.  Was  he  not 
soon  to  be  married  to  the  wealthiest  —  aye,  and  one  of  the 
most  beautiful  women  in  the  city?  Was  not  his  happiness 
and  success  assured  ?  The  idea  of  his  giving  up  these  pros- 


234  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

pects  for  the  sake  of  a  little  silly  sentiment,  and  boyish 
passion ! 

Then,  when  the  question  arose  in  his  mind  of  the  duty  and 
moral  responsibility  resting  on  him  to  do  all  in  his  power  to 
right  the  wrong  he  had  done,  he  would  reason  that  she  had 
exonerated  him  herself.  She  said  she  was  not  unhappy,  and 
that  his  happiness  would  always  be  hers.  What  more  could 
he  do?  The  wrong  he  committed  was  done  without  evil  in- 
tention. He  could  plead  the  statute  of  youth  and  the 
delirium  of  love.  He  was  sorry  that  it  had  resulted  as  it 
did,  but  he  could  not  help  it  now.  He  wondered  what  would 
become  of  her,  and  —  of  his  child.  There  was  the  pang  — 
his  child  —  the  child  of  the  girl  he  had  loved.  He  felt  his 
heart  swell,  and  his  eye  grow  moist  as  he  thought  of  it  all. 

But  now  there  came  a  knock  at  the  door,  and  these  mus- 
ings must  be  banished.  Present  conditions  confronted  him. 

In  response  to  John's  "  come  in  "  the  liveried  footman  of 
Mrs.  Van  Bergen  entered.  He  bore  a  perfumed  note  from 
his  mistress,  whom  John  had  not  seen  for  several  days,  as 
she  had  been  to  a  distant  city  in  order  to  perfect  some 
arrangements  for  the  brilliant  wedding  she  had  planned. 
The  note  ran :  — 

'•  MY  DEAREST  JOHN: 

I  have  just  gotten  back,  and  am  pining  to  see  you.  Though 
only  for  a  week,  the  separation  has  seemed  an  age.  I  was  very 
fatigued  when  I  arrived,  but  the  prospect  of  seeing  you  soon  has 
refreshed  me.  Come  over  this  afternoon,  and  we  will  take  a  drive 
in  the  park.  O,  how  impatient  I  am  to  see  you!  O,  how  impatient 
I  am  for  the  wedding  day!  And  what  a  weariness  is  all  this  prep- 


AFTER    ALL.  235 

aration  and  waiting!  Hurry  up  and  come,  or  I  shall  die  of  love- 
sickness.  With  what  zest  you  have  thrilled  life  for  me!  Hurry 
up  and  come.  Youu  LOVING  MAUD." 

John  gravely  read  this  characteristic  billet  doux,  deliber- 
ately refolded  it,  placed  it  in  its  envelope,  and  put  it  in  his 
pocket.  The  stolid,  statuesque  footman  standing  by  with 
folded  arms  and  immobile  face  saw  no  change  of  expression 
as  he  read  it. 

This  footman,  though  outwardly  an  automaton  when  acting 
in  his  official  capacity  among  his  superiors,  was  extremely 
human  when  with  his  peers  in  the  servants'  hall.  Among 
them  he  was  known  as  a  delightful  gossip  and  talker  who 
never  suffered  a  day  to  go  by  but  that  he  retailed  to  them 
some  racy  bit  of  news,  prophecy,  or  scandal  which  he  had 
gathered  or  improvised  while  on  his  daily  rounds.  He  had 
a  most  lively  imagination,  and  from  the  merest  thread  of 
evidence  or  fact  could  weave  a  wonderful  web  of  intrigue. 
His  mind  was  as  a  blotter  ever  ready  to  absorb  the  inky 
smudges  of  scandalous  gossip.  All  day  long  he  went 
around  in  the  mechanical  performance  of  his  duties,  while 
his  senses  were  ever  in  a  state  of  alert  receptivity  to  the 
smallest  breath  of  anything  which  savored  of  gossip.  While 
he  watched  John  read  the  note,  the  blank  expression  of  his 
face  did  not  indicate  in  the  slightest  degree  the  eager  activ- 
ity of  his  mind  as  he  surmised  and  drew  his  conclusions. 
It  was  the  chief  aim  of  his  life  to  keep  well  informed  as  to 
the  amours  of  his  mistress. 

John  answered  the  note  briefly,  saying  he  would  come. 
Of  course,  it  was  necessary  to  throw  in  a  few  dulcet  words 


236  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

and  phrases  too.  Then  he  sealed  and  gave  it  to  Tapper, 
the  footman. 

Tupper  did  not  return  directly  to  Mrs.  Van  Bergen 's  with 
the  note.  He  took  a  circuitous  route  and  came  into  the 
house  by  the  servants'  entrance,  and  went  around  to  the 
kitchen.  As  he  came  along  he  had  held  the  note  up  to  the 
light,  pressing  the  envelope  tightly,  looking  at  it  in  every 
angle,  trying  to  see  if  he  could  read  any  words  through  the 
paper.  But  his  efforts  were  fruitless  —  the  paper  was  of 
a  delicate  tint  of  coloring,  and  was  opaque. 

On  reaching  the  kitchen,  he  went  up  to  a  kettle  which  was 
sending  a  jet  of  hot  steam  into  the  air.  He  held  the  letter 
in  the  steam  for  some  minutes,  and  then  with  his  knife  care- 
fully loosened  the  seal  and  opened  it.  The  cook  and  sev- 
eral other  servants  witnessed  this  operation,  and  had  gath- 
ered around  him  in  awed  silence.  Such  happenings  were 
not  of  uncommon  occurrence  in  the  kitchen,  and  occasioned 
no  surprise,  but  only  increased  their  admiration  for  Tupper, 
and  redounded  to  his  glory.  They  looked  upon  one  who 
had  the  daring  and  ingenuity  to  do  such  deeds  as  a  hero. 
The  few  questions  they  asked  in  ominous  whispers,  Tupper 
deprecated  with  an  imperious  uplifting  of  his  hand,  and  a 
grave,  portentous  shake  of  the  head.  He  recognized  his 
leadership,  his  power,  his  prestige,  and  it  would  not  do  to 
be  too  condescending.  He  silently  brushed  them  aside,  and 
perused  the  note  himself,  holding  it  high  above  their  heads. 
As  he  read  it,  he  would  purse  his  lips,  grunt,  stretch  his 
eyes,  raise  his  brows,  and  then  assume  an  expression  of  great 
gravity  and  wisdom.  He  ran  the  whole  gamut  of  facial  ex- 
pression, well  knowing  how  such  proceedings  intensified  the 


AFTER    ALL.  237 

excruciating  curiosity  of  the  others.  Having  finished  read- 
ing, he  solemnly  cleared  his  throat,  and  then  taking  note 
book  and  pencil  from  a  secret  pocket,  he  sat  down  and 
quickly  copied  the  note.  Another  solemn  clearing  of  the 
throat,  and  he  walks  to  a  corner  shelf  of  the  kitchen,  moves 
several  jars,  turns  up  a  box,  and  takes  out  a  bottle  of  muci- 
lage. He  applies  the  brush,  and  carefully  re-seals  the  letter, 
holding  it  up  over  the  stove  a  while  to  dry.  Then,  still  ignor- 
ing the  presence  of  the  other  servants,  he  replaces  the  letter 
in  his  pocket,  and  stalks  out. 

VI. 

When  John  went  over  to  Mrs.  Van  Bergen's  that  after- 
noon, he  found  her  in  hat  and  wraps  impatiently  awaiting 
him,  while  her  handsome  trap  and  dashing  pair  of  bays  were 
at  the  door.  As  he  came  in  she  rushed  forward  and  dramati- 
cally threw  her  arms  around  his  neck. 

Tupper,  whose  eye  was  at  the  key-hole,  reproduced  the 
scene  that  night  in  the  servants'  hall  in  capital  burlesque, 
getting  one  of  the  maids  to  represent  Mrs.  Van  Bergen, 
while  he  impersonated  John. 

Mrs.  Van  Bergen's  hysterical  manifestation  of  her  love 
having  abated,  she  and  John  went  out,  and  started  on  their 
drive.  On  through  the  park  they  went,  and  out  into  the 
country  beyond,  the  spirited  horses  speeding  away  without 
urging  by  whip  or  word.  Soon  the  last  scattering  houses  of 
the  suburbs  lay  behind  them, — but  they  kept  on,  going 
rapidly  over  the  fine  road  stretching  through  field  and 
woodland,  passing  here  and  there  an  occasional  farm  house 


238  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

with  its  neat  barn  and  fences,  its  weathercock  and  wind- 
mill. 

"  I  thought  perhaps  we  would  enjoj  it,"  said  Mrs.  Van 
Bergen,  when  the  last  house  of  the  suburbs  had  receded 
from  view,  "  as  I  am  still  a  little  fatigued,  and  maybe  you 
are  too  after  the  morning's  work  ;  —  so  I  brought  a  little 
wine — champagne  —  along.  Reach  down,  John,  dearest, 
and  take  the  bottles  from  under  the  seat.  We  are  out  on 
a  lovers'  lark,  and  can  dispense  with  glasses,  and  drink  it 
from  the  bottle  as  we  go  along." 

John  took  out  the  bottles  as  directed  ;  and  they  quaffed 
the  genial  beverage  in  no  stinted  quantity,  their  method  of 
drinking  not  admitting  of  an  exact  gage.  Having  drunk  as 
much  as  their  discretion  or  inclination  dictated,  the  bottles 
were  replaced  under  the  seat,  and  they  drove  on  —  Mrs. 
Van  Bergen  prattling  away,  admiring  the  scenery,  and  say- 
ing amorous  nothings. 

"  Glorious!  "  she  exclaimed.  How  happy  I  am!  John, 
why  are  you  so  silent?  —  you  seem  low-spirited." 

"No,  you  misinterpret  my  silence,  Maud:  do  you  not 
think  that  there  are  times  when  all  words  seem  trite  and 
commonplace  ?  Do  you  not  sometimes  feel  that  words  are 
but  a  poor  medium  for  the  communication  of  soul  with  soul  ? 
Do  you  not  believe  in  love's  telepathy?  and  that,  when  two 
souls  are  surcharged  with  love's  electricity,  words  are  vain 
and  unnecessary  —  that  to  the  highly  sensitive  nature  im- 
mersed in  love's  divinest  emotion  they  may  even  be  grat- 
ing and  unwelcome?  Well,  that  is  the  way  I  feel  now. 
Let  us  look  into  each  other's  eyes,  Maud — that  is  better 
than  talking." 


AFTER    ALL.  239 

There  can  be  little  doubt  as  to  the  sincerity  of  these  words 
of  John  at  the  time  they  were  spoken.  Companionship 
with  this  beautiful  woman  had  intoxicated  him  with  momen- 
tary love,  which  with  his  youth  and  inexperience  he  took  to 
be  eternal.  What  man  with  red  blood  in  his  veins  would 
not  have  capitulated  to  the  Little  Tyrant  under  such  circum- 
stances ? 

A  beautiful  woman  is  the  greatest  winner  of  momentary 
victories  in  the  world.  She  can  bend  the  iron  will  of  man 
as  though  it  were  a  reed.  Reason  strikes  its  colors  to  her ; 
wisdom  becomes  her  slave;  even  Honor  herself,  will  often, 
at  her  bidding,  cast  her  spotless  escutcheon  in  the  dust. 

What  wonder  that  John  should  be  victimized  when  he  had 
placed  himself  so  completely  in  the  enemy's  power?  He 
was  in  Cupid's  cul-de-sac.  Out  driving  on  a  fair  autumn 
afternoon  with  a  beautiful  woman  along  a  lonely  road.  A 
man  far  less  susceptible  than  he  would  have  been  vanquished 
under  similar  conditions.  Nor  was  it  the  first  time  John  had 
felt  he  loved  her.  He  had  felt  himself  carried  away  by  her 
before :  so  now  he  fell  an  easy  victim.  When  in  her  pres- 
ence, and  in  the  high  tide  of  the  emotion  she  aroused  in  him, 
he  never  thought  how  ephemeral  and  transient  those  feelings 
were,  or  how  he  looked  upon  them  in  soberer  and  more 
rational  moments.  His  whole  individuality  would  be 
merged  in  the  infatuation  of  the  moment,  and  he  would 
live  only  in  the  present,  looking  neither  before  nor  behind. 
He  believed  implicitly  that  she  loved  him  with  a  love  which 
could  never  die.  It  was  easier  for  him  to  believe  in  her  love 
than  in  his  own ;  and  once  believing  in  hers,  it  made  his, 
such  as  it  was,  seem  more  probable.  John  had  many 


240  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

strong  points  of  character,  but  his  love  of  the  fair  sex  over- 
mastered all  other  qualities  of  his  nature.  If  it  may  be 
called  a  weakness,  it  was  his  greatest.  His  love  —  very 
much  like  Mrs.  Van  Bergen's  in  many  ways  — resembled  an 
avalanche  —  sudden,  overwhelming  and  of  short  duration. 
Without  premonition  it  swept  down  upon  him,  while  his 
reason,  resolutions,  and  purposes  were  helpless  before  it. 

When  John  finished  speaking,  Mrs.  Van  Bergen  drew  a 
deep  sigh,  and  looked  up  in  his  eyes  as  he  requested. 
The  road  was  lonely ;  the  horses  were  trotting  along  at  a 
steady,  even  gait,  and  the  November  sunset  was  throwing  a 
light  of  gold  and  rose  over  the  earth.  There  was  her  pretty 
face  so  close  to  his ;  there  were  her  big,  lustrous  eyes  with 
their  gentle,  dove-like  expression,  looking  into  his.  John 
bent  over  and  kissed  her. 

Happy  lovers  !  —  they  are  engaged  —  soon  to  be  mar- 
ried —  nothing  improper.  Let  us  not  intrude ;  for  the  reins 
have  slipped  from  John's  hands,  and  unobserved  by  the 
blissful  pair,  are  dangling  over  the  dash  board. 

Now  one  of  the  horses  is  named  Daisy,  and  the  other  is 
Turk ;  and  both  are  feeling  lively  and  playful  this  after- 
noon, as  the  air  is  cool  and  bracing.  They  have  been 
frolicking,  and  teasing  each  other  more  or  less  all  during  the 
drive.  Turk  would  lean  over  and  bite  Daisy  on  the  neck, 
and  Daisy  would  switch  her  tail,  and  back  her  ears,  and 
snap  back.  As  the  sun  goes  down,  and  the  air  gets  more 
nip  in  it,  they  get  still  more  hilarious. 

"  Where  the  deuce  can  they  be  driving  us  to,  do  you  sup- 
pose? "  Turk  says  to  Daisy,  —  "I  never  was  so  far  out  in 
the  country  before  in  my  life.  Doesn't  that  farmer's  fodder 


AFTER   ALL.  241 

stack  over  there  smell  good !  I'm  getting  hungry,  too. 
It's  high  time  we  were  going  back." 

"Yes,"  said  Daisy,  "I  think  so  myself.  I'm  getting 
hungry  enough  to  eat  wet  shucks.  I  should  think  it  was 
time  we  were  going  back.  I  begin  to  feel  nervous,  too  — 
so  far  out  in  the  country,  and  night  coming  on.  Think  I 
would  jump  out  of  my  skin  if  a  rabbit  ran  across  the  road." 

"O,  shucks!  I  am  not  nervous,  but  feeling  mighty 
frisky,  barring  a  little  emptiness.  I'm  enjoying  this  out- 
ing. Wish  I  was  a  country  horse.  Doesn't  this  ground 
feel  nice  and  soft  under  your  feet,  and  isn't  the  air  fresh? 
We  city  horses  don't  have  any  fun.  If  I  was  a  country 
horse  I'd  break  into  somebody's  cornfield  every  day.  One 
enjoys  grub  so  much  more  when  it's  seasoned  with  mischief. 
B'lieve  I'd  rather  have  a  stolen  cornstalk  for  my  supper  in 
the  country,  than  to  have  barley  and  meal,  and  be  cooped 
up  in  the  city.  Gracious  me !  —  they've  let  the  reins  drop ; 
they  must  have  gone  to  sleep.  Tell  you  what  let's  do, 
Daisy — you  see  those  juicy  looking  hayricks  over  there  in 
that  field,  don't  you? — well,  I'm  in  for  a  frolic:  —  sup- 
pose we  kick  up  our  heels,  and  break  loose  from  this  infernal 
runabout,  and  go  over  there,  and  enjoy  ourselves.  Won't 
it  be  jolly  wallowing  in  it,  and  eating  it  at  the  same  time? 
And  then  there's  a  calf  out  there  that  we  can  chase,  and 
tease  its  old  ma ;  and  when  she  runs  at  us  we  can  give  her 
our  heels  in  the  face.  My !  it's  the  chance  of  a  lifetime. 
That  pair  back  there  have  gone  to  sleep  and  forgotten  us : 
they  are  lovers,  you  know.  I  do  hate  to  be  driven  by 
lovers  —  they  usually  drive  slowly,  but  they  drive  so  devilish 
long,  and  they  are  so  selfish  and  absent-minded.  We  will 

16 


242  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

just  give  that  couple  back  there  a  gentle  reminder  that  we 
are  still  living,  and  are  not  going  to  be  imposed  upon. 
They  are  treating  us  shamefully.  While  they  feast  on  love, 
they  ought  to  be  willing  for  their  poor  horses  to  have  a 
little  hay.  They  forget  that  you  and  I  are  not  lovers, 
Daisy,  and  need  a  solid  practical  supper." 

"But,"  Daisy  demurred,  "  we  haven't  any  excuse  to  run 
away.  Whoever  heard  of  horses  running  away  without  any 
excuse?  If  something  would  just  happen  to  give  us  an 
excuse  to  get  scared :  if  a  bicycle  or  bear  would  only  come 
along ;  but  to  run  away  all  of  a  sudden  without  any  excuse 
would  be  rather  peculiar." 

"  Pshaw!  you  females  are  always  higgling  about  excuses 
and  appearances.  What  better  excuse  do  you  want  than 
those  reins  hanging  down  there,  and  dangling  on  your  legs? 
Any  horse  with  any  mettle  wouldn't  stand  that  sort  of  a 
thing.  Now  I  am  going  to  count,  and  when  I  say  '  three', 
we  both  will  kick  up  at  the  same  time,  and  tear  down  the 
road  as  hard  as  we  can,  dash  up  that  bank,  jump  over  the 
fence,  and  into  the  field.  If  we  do  it  right,  I  think  we  can 
leave  the  vehicle  on  this  side  of  the  fence.  I  think  the 
harness  will  be  pretty  well  loosened  up  by  the  time  we  get 
up  the  bank." 

"  All  right — I  don't  care — go  ahead." 

VII. 

The  next  instant  the  preoccupation  of  John  and  Mrs. 
Van  Bergen  was  interrupted  by  a  violent  lurch  of  the  vehi- 
cle as  it  suddenly  came  to  a  standstill.  The  horses  reared 


AFTER    ALL.  243 

and  plunged,  the  shafts  cracked,  and  Mrs.  Van  Bergen 
screamed.  John  made  a  frantic  effort  to  catch  the  reins, 
but  they  were  under  the  horses'  heels,  and  before  he  could 
regain  his  presence  of  mind,  the  horses  commenced  to  tear 
down  the  road  at  a  fearful  rate  of  speed.  Hardly  had  they 
gotten  well  under  way,  with  the  earth  flying,  and  the  wheels 
nearly  humming,  when  they  swerved  violently  to  the  right, 
dashed  up  a  steep  bank  several  feet  high,  overturning  the 
vehicle,  and  then  jumped  the  fence  at  the  top  of  the 
elevation. 

The  lovers  were  thrown  violently  out,  and  rolled  down 
the  bank  in  mingled  confusion.  But  save  a  few  bruises, 
the  shock  and  jolting,  neither  was  hurt.  The  trap,  with  the 
exception  of  the  shafts  and  two  front  wheels  and  axle,  which 
were  still  attached  to  the  horses,  was  a  mass  of  wreckage 
lying  by  the  fence.  The  horses,  with  the  fore  wheels  after 
them,  trotted  complacently  to  the  hayricks  at  some  distance 
in  the  field,  and  there  stopped  and  proceeded  to  enjoy  them- 
selves. 

Meantime,  John  and  Mrs.  Van  Bergen  picked  themselves 
up,  testing  their  limbs,  and  examining  their  persons,  fearful 
lest  they  discover  some  fracture  or  injury.  They  were  a 
dejected  looking  pair,  with  their  soiled  and  torn  clothes, 
their  bruised  and  scratched  faces. 

"  Are  you  injured,  John,  dearest?  "  Mrs.  Van  Bergen  in- 
quired as  soon  as  she  had  collected  her  senses,  and  tested 
the  soundness  of  her  own  limbs. 

"No,  I  believe  not,"  said  John,  shaking  himself,  and 
brushing  the  earth  off  his  coat.  He  forced  a  sorry  laugh, 


244  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

being  disposed  to  make  light  of  the  matter.  "  Are  you 
hurt,  Maud?  "  he  inquired. 

"I  scarcely  know  yet  —  ah!  dear,  it  was  so  sudden  — 
how  did  it  happen?  —  what  made  them  runaway?  John, 
dear,  are  you  certain  you  are  not  injured  internally?  I 
have  heard  of  so  many  persons  who  were  injured  internally 
and  did  not  know  it  for  several  days.  O,  John,  if  you 
should  be  injured  internally !  And  just  suppose  one  of  us 
had  been  killed  or  injured  for  life.  Suppose  you  were 
killed,  and  I  was  not  —  oh! — oh!  Thank  Heaven  it  is 
not  so  —  thank  Heaven!"  And  Mrs.  Van  Bergen  sank 
down  quite  overcome  with  the  thought. 

"  Well,  we  haven't  time  to  indulge  in  sentimental  ifs  and 
might-have-beens,"  John  said.  "  You  see,  Maud,  it  is 
nearly  dark,  and  we  are  miles  from  town,  and  with  no  means 
of  getting  there.  We  are  in  this  lonely  country,  and  night's 
upon  us.  We  will  have  to  see  if  we  can  find  any  farm  house 
around  here  where  we  can  get  lodging  for  the  night.  You 
see  the  condition  of  our  vehicle,  and  its  no  use  fooling  with 
the  horses.  Come  on,  —  I  see  a  column  of  smoke  rising 
over  the  trees  yonder:  let's  make  our  way  towards  it." 

He  slipped  his  arm  about  her,  and  they  started.  On 
rounding  the  turn  of  the  road,  they  came  in  view  of  an 
humble,  one-story,  frame  dwelling  house.  It  had  a  certain 
degree  of  homelike  comfort  and  cosiness,  which,  added  to 
the  savory  odor  of  the  evening  meal  that  greeted  their 
olfactories,  made  the  hearts  of  the  disconsolate  pair  feel 
lighter. 

They  knocked  at  the  door,  and  an  elderly,  roughly  dressed 
man,  with  a  long  beard,  and  rather  kindly  face,  opened  it, 


AFTER    ALL  245 

and  having  greeted  them  with  a  cordial  bow,  bade  them 
walk  in.  They  told  him  their  story  briefly,  and  asked  if 
they  could  get  accommodations  for  the  night. 

"  Well,  well,"  their  host  said,  as  he  ushered  them  into 
the  chief  bed  and  sitting-room  of  the  house,  where  there 
appeared  to  be  a  considerable  gathering  of  visitors  around 
the  fireplace,  —  "I  thought  you  was  some  of  the  weddin' 
guests.  Had  a  runaway,  and  smashup,  eh?  Well,  I  sup- 
pose we'll  hev  to  store  you  'way  somewheves  —  don't  like 
to  be  unhospital.  From  the  city,  eh?  —  how  come  you  to 
be  'way  out  in  these  backwoods?  and  what  air  you — hus- 
band and  wife  —  brother  and  sister  —  cousins,  or  jus' 
friends?  Friends?  —  yes,  I  see: — no  ties  of  blood  or 
effinity.  You  look  like  mighty  good  friends,  and  you  must 
be,  or  you  wouldn't  risk  your  necks  for  each  other  as  you 
seem  to  have  done  this  evenin'.  Well,  I'm  sorry  you  ain't 
married,  and  will  hev  to  hev  separate  quarters.  We  air 
crowded  here  this  evenin'  and  will  hev  a  hard  time  storin' 
you  'way  in  separate  departments.  You  see,  I  am  a  jestice 
of  the  peace,  and  am  going  to  marry  a  couple  here  to-night ; 
and  there's  to  be  a  dance  and  gineral  big-to-do,  and  course 
my  house  is  full  almost  to  the  bustiu'  limit.  However,  I 
think  we  can  do  something  with  you  —  my  old  'oman  is  very 
ingenious  in  packing  things,  and  'conomizing  space  —  but  I 
wish  you  was  a  married  couple,  jus'  for  the  sake  of  conveni- 
ence. You  two  step  in  this  side  room,  and  I'll  give  you  a 
chance  to  wash  some  of  that  dirt  out  of  your  eyes.  You  both 
look  like  you  been  run  through  a  sausage  mill,  and  then  put 
to  makin'  mud  pies." 

He  led   them    into  a   smaller  apartment   adjoining    the 


246  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

sitting  room,  and  giving  ihem  a  pitcher  of  water,  a  tin 
basin,  a  cake' of  home-made  soap,  and  a  rough  towel,  he 
closed  the  door,  and  left  them  to  perform  their  toilet,  after 
telling  them  as  he  went  out :  —  "  Y'all  better  spink  up  best 
you  know  how :  this  is  goin'  to  be  a  real  gran'  weddin'  here 
to-night." 

Left  to  themselves,  John  and  Mrs.  Van  Bergen  looked  at 
each  other,  both  smiling. 

"Quite  an  experience,  Maud,"  John  said. 

"  It  is  indeed ;  but  do  you  know,  John,  dear,  that  an  idea 
has  occurred  to  me  ? ' ' 

"  No,  dear,  I  did  not ;  what  is  it?  " 

"  Well,  our  narrow  escape  this  evening  has  made  me  re- 
flect on  the  extreme  uncertainty  of  life  and  of  the  fulfilment 
of  all  mundane  hopes  of  happiness.  How  often  it  is  that 
through  a  little  delay,  or  some  unforeseen  accident  we  miss 
the  dearest  boons  of  life ;  and  I  have  come  to  the  con- 
clusion that  it  is  our  duty  —  that  we  should  always  avail 
ourselves  of  present  opportunities  of  happiness  —  that  we 
should  never  delay  clinching  the  nail  of  our  joys.  We 
have  only  the  present,  and  we  should  pluck  its  fruits  while 
in  our  reach :  who  knows  how  soon  they  will  be  rotten  and 
fallen.  Fate  is  fickle:  let  us  quaff  the  wine  she  offers  us 
to-day,  or  to-morrow  it  may  be  a  beaker  of  woe.  Let  us 
not  scorn  to  pluck  the  flowers  along  the  present  path  in  hope 
of  more  beautiful  ones  beyond.  Further  on  there  may  be 
only  thistles.  Procrastinate  drinking  the  cup  of  joy,  and 
very  likely  it  will  be  dashed  from  your  lips. 

"  Yes,  John,  dear,  you  see  I've  been  led  to  take  a  deep, 
sober,  and  philosophic  view  of  these  things  —  think  how 


AFTER    ALL.  247 

easily  one  of  us  might  have  been  killed  —  but  there  are  other 
considerations  too.  I  am  sick  and  tired  of  all  this  prepara- 
tion for  a  grand  wedding  and  big  display.  I  am  thoroughly 
worn  out  with  it  all  —  what  good  is  it  ?  —  I  have  had  one 
big  wedding,  and  I  know  how  tiresome  and  empty  it  all  is, 
even  when  one  is  not  desperately  in  love,  and  might  enjoy  a 
little  ostentation.  What  good  is  in  it  all?  —  just  a  gaudy 
show  for  the  populace  —  just  gossip  for  the  newspapers  — 
just  a  public,  glaring,  garish  manifestation  of  that  event  — 
the  welding  of  two  souls  —  which  the  loving  heart  says 
should  be  quiet  and  modest  as  possible.  The  sacred  altar 
of  matrimony  should  not  be  made  a  place  of  posing  for  the 
galleries.  The  prayer  of  the  marriage  service  should  not  be 
made  a  genuflection  to  the  crowd. 

"  And  then  we  should  have  some  thought  and  considera- 
tion for  these  kind  people  who  have  taken  us  in  to-night, 
and  who  for  the  sake  of  kindness  and  hospitality,  subject 
themselves  to  inconvenience  and  trouble.  Yes,  all  things 
being  considered,  John,  dear,  I  see  no  reason  why  we  should 
not  be  married  to-night,  married  here  by  this  good  man, 
and  have  it  all  over  with.  It  will  be  such  a  relief.  We 
can  go  back  to  town  to-morrow,  and  start  right  in  on  the 
blissful  contentment  of  married  life,  and  there  will  be  no 
more  waiting,  no  more  fuss  and  fuming,  no  more  wearisome 
dressmaking,  no  sending  of  invitations,  and  such  trouble- 
some and  worrying  preliminaries.  Of  course  our  friends 
who  want  a  big  wedding  will  be  disappointed,  and  will  call 
our  conduct  queer  and  eccentric ;  but  then  we  are  not 
getting  married  to  please  our  friends.  My,  but  won't  they 
be  surprised !  Yes,  John,  dear,  let  us  be  married  here  to- 


248  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

night — let's  hurry,  and  be  married  quickly.  We  must  do 
it.  It  will  be  something  out  of  the  usual  run  of  things, 
too,  —  a  savor  of  the  eccentrically  romantic  about  it,  which 
I  like.  I  like  to  do  startling,  original  things  which  surprise 
people.  I  am  so  tired  of  conventionalities.  Thanks  to  my 
independent  spirit  and  my  bank  account,  I  can  be  myself,  — 
a  crank  if  you  like  —  with  impunity.  People  with  wealth 
and  genius  can  afford  to  do  queer  things ;  they  are  not 
handicapped  by  the  fear  of  infringing  all  of  society's  little 
laws  and  regulations.  O,  I  am  perfectly  carried  away  with 
the  idea!  What  do  you  say,  John,  dear?  " 

As  soon  as  Ardslye  had  grasped  the  drift  and  meaning 
of  her  words,  he  had  been  deliberating  upon  the  advisability 
of  the  step  which  she  counseled,  and  he  had  come  to  the 
conclusion  that  it  was  best  for  him  that  the  marriage  come 
off  as  soon  as  possible.  Since  he  had  become  society's  fad, 
being  at  its  beck  and  call,  and  particularly  since  he  had 
become  Mrs.  Van  Bergen's  hobby,  his  business  had  suffered, 
and  were  he  thrown  upon  his  own  resources,  pecuniary 
difficulties  would  be  staring  him  in  the  face  in  short  time. 

"There's  many  a  slip  between  the  cup  and  the  lip," 
he  meditated,  repeating  to  himself  an  old  saw  he  had  often 
heard  his  father  use ;  ' '  and  the  sooner  I  am  married  to 
Maud,  and  the  nail  of  my  good  fortune  is  hammered  home 
and  firmly  clinched,  the  better.  It's  a  fortuitous  circum- 
stance which  has  brought  us  here,  and  has  put  her  into 
this  way  of  thinking." 

"A  capital  idea,  Maud,  —  a  glorious  idea,"  he  then 
replied.  "  Do  you  suppose  that  I  could  have  any  objec- 
tion to  the  immediate  consummation  of  our  happiness  ?  It 


AFTER   ALL.  249 

cannot  be  too  soon  for  me.  We  men,  you  know,  always 
prefer  a  quiet  wedding,  and  I  was  willing  to  have  the  big 
affair  only  because  I  thought  you  wanted  it,  darling.  I  am 
glad  to  see  that  you  have  a  man's  ideas  regarding  it,  and 
prefer  to  have  what  should  be  the  greatest  and  most  hallowed 
event  of  our  lives,  modest,  quiet,  and  unpretentious.  A 
quiet  wedding,  I  think,  is  very  often  a  sign  of  true  love  be- 
tween the  chief  participants.  Love  is  modest  and  retiring, 
and  it  shrinks  from  pageantry  and  ostentation.  It  finds  its 
most  perfect  life  and  development  in  seclusion  and  quietude, 
and  not  amid  the  brazen  blare  of  the  multitude.  The  big  wed- 
ding is  of  ten  indicative  of  other  motives  than  those  of  the  heart. 
Its  march  may  be  that  of  flaunting  ostentation  and  haughty, 
triumphant  pride,  and  you  will  seldom  see  Cupid  in  the  rear 
guard.  Have  you  never  noticed,  Maud,  how  persons  of 
your  sex,  particularly  those  who  have  had  a  narrow  escape 
from  spinsterhood,  love  a  grand  wedding?  Have  you  never 
noticed  the  expression  of  supreme,  exultant  triumph  on  an 
old  maid's  face,  as  with  much  pomp  and  ceremony  she 
marches  to  the  bridal  altar,  proudly  flaunting  her  matrimonial 
victory  in  the  jealous  eyes  of  her  female  friends  still  pining 
in  the  realm  of  unafflanced  maidenhood? 

"  Yes,  love,  you  can  please  me  no  better  than  to  be  mar- 
ried at  once,  and  quietly.  I  believe  that  a  wedding  should 
be  an  occasion  of  joy ;  but  let  the  ceremony  itself  be  one  of 
unobtrusive  joy. 

"  Yet,  though  we  have  come  to  this  happy  solution,  and 
our  tastes  and  ideas  are  in  such  perfect  harmony  and  agree- 
ment, there  is  still  a  practical  consideration  to  be  looked  at  — 
there  is  a  little  thing  which  may  —  merely  for  the  sake  of 


250  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

the  proverb  —  prove  a  stone  in  the  smooth  course  of  our  true 
love.  How  about  the  license,  dear? — we  want  a  valid, 
unquestionable  marriage." 

"  That's  so  ;  I  hadn't  thought  of  that.  Love  will  find  out 
the  way.  We  will  see  our  host,  the  justice:  he  may  be 
able  to  arrange  that.  Are  you  ready  to  go  out?  That's  a 
big  bruise  on  your  forehead,  John,  and  I  have  an  ugly 
scratch  on  my  cheek.  Bad  for  the  honeymoon,  isn't  it?  " 

VIII. 

"  Justice  Barley,  we  wish  to  speak  privately  with  you  for 
a  moment,"  said  Mrs.  Van  Bergen,  as  she  and  John  re- 
entered  the  sitting  room  where  the  crowd  laughed  and 
chatted  around  the  fire,  a  few  making  attempts  to  decorate 
the  room  for  the  bridal.  Mrs.  Van  Bergen  took  the  ener- 
getic initiative  in  engineering  their  course,  while  her  fiancee 
followed  passively  in  her  wake. 

"  Cert'inly,  ma'am,  what  kin  I  do  for  you?  "  said  Justice 
Barley,  bowing  with  an  awkward  attempt  at  chivalry, — 
"  what  kin  I  do  for  your  comfit  and  happiness?  Jus'  step 
right  in  my  office  and  place  of  business  here,  where  I  'min- 
isters my  jedgements  and  'tends  to  all  my  official  duties." 

He  led  them  into  a  small,  box-like  compartment  at  the 
other  end  of  the  passage-way.  There  were  three  or  four 
rough  chairs  in  the  room,  and  a  plain  unvarnished  table. 
On  the  wall  hung  two  cheap  prints,  one  a  likeness  of  George 
Washington,  the  other  that  of  Henry  W.  Beecher.  On  the 
table  there  was  a  big  box  turned  over  on  its  side,  and  pigeon- 
holed for  the  storage  of  papers.  Judging  from  the  label  on 


AFTER   ALL.  251 

its  side,  this  piece  of  furniture  had  originally  been  designed 
for  the  packing  of  groceries,  but  it  upheld  with  commend- 
able dignity  its  new  role  of  receptacle  for  legal  documents. 
There  were  also  on  the  table  goosequill  pens,  a  "  Justice's 
Guide,"  some  bundles  of  paper  tied  with  pink  tape  and 
strips  of  red  llannel,  and  a  bottle  of  ink,  or  what  appeared 
to  be  ink,  the  fluid  itself  being  in  a  vial  labeled  "  cough 
mixture  and  colic  cure." 

"  Jus'  hev  seats,"  said  the  host,  as  he  ushered  them  in, 
and,  with  an  air  of  punctilious  importance,  closed  the  door 
behind  them.  "You  see  this  here's  my  hall  of  jestice:  — 
Gineral  Washington  up  there  stands  for  liberty;  Mr. 
Beecher,  he  stands  for  gospel ;  and  I  stands  for  law  and 
ekerty.  This  here  is  my  wholesale  and  retail  house  of 
jestice.  I  been  ministering  law  and  ekerty  in  this  com- 
munity for  twenty-five  years,  and  I  don't  mean  ter  brag  er 
tall, — even  if  twenty-five  years  in  honorable  office  ought 
to  give  a  man  some  privileges  to  blow  his  own  horn: — I 
don't  mean  to  brag  er  tall,  but  I  claim,  and  always  has 
claimed  that  I  kin  give  a  man  a  better  quality  of  law  and 
jestice  for  less  money  than  any  other  judge  in  the  State, 
high  or  low. 

"  I  don't  know  what  kind  of  business  you  want  me  to  do 
for  you,  but  I  guess  it's  sornthin'  important,  or  you 
wouldn't  want  to  see  me  in  my  private  office.  And  I  kin 
see  you  are  both  ladies  and  gentlemen  ;  and  before  you  be- 
gin, I  want  you  to  understan'  the  kind  of  man  you  dealin' 
with.  We's  strangers,  and  I  want  you  to  hev  confidence  in 
me  from  the  start. 

"  As  I  was  tellin'  you,  my  'pinions,  and  my  jedgements 


252  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

is  strictly  first  class  on  all  matters  whatsomever  that  comes 
under  my  jurisdiction  ;  and  there's  mighty  few  things  thet 
don't  come  under  my  jurisdiction :  I  done  built  up  my 
jurisdiction  till  its  most  as  broad  as  thet  of  all  the  courts 
in  the  country.  I  never  dismisses  no  suit  for  want  of 
jurisdiction.  If  people  come  to  me  for  jestice,  they's  goin' 
to  git  jestice,  if  I  hev  to  stretch  a  pint  or  two  to  give  it  to 
'em.  It  ain't  no  use  sendin'  'em  away  to  another  court 
when  they  kin  git  jus'  as  good  jestice  right  here  under  their 
noses.  Jestice  is  jestice,  and  it's  jus'  as  good  comin'  from 
me  as  'tis  from  the  Judge  of  the  United  States  Soopreme 
Court ;  and  law  is  law  whether  it's  spoke  from  the  mouth  of 
a  jack-rabbit  or  a  king. 

"  And  right  here  I  want  you  to  understan'  thet  I  don't 
claim  to  know  all  the  book-law  in  the  world.  I  base  my 
'pinions  and  verdicts  on  common  sense  and  my  natchul 
notions  of  jestice.  The  Lord  made  jestice,  and  put  it  in 
people,  and  people  put  it  in  books.  Instead  of  goin'  to  books, 
and  gettin'  it  second-hand,  I  look  in  my  mind,  and  get  jestice 
right  fresh  from  Providence.  I'm  a  great  believer  in  the 
principles  of  primary  ekerty ;  and  I  ain't  never  see  the  case 
yet  where  I  couldn't  decide  accordin'  to  them  principles. 
It's  foolishness  to  go  lookin'  in  books,  and  gettin  the  prin- 
ciples of  primary  ekerty  mixed  up  with  a  lot  of  dry-rotten, 
second-hand  law  where  won't  apply  to  the  facts  of  the  case. 
What  you  ought  to  try  a  case  by  is  the  principles  of  primary 
ekerty,  whether  it's  a  civil  suit,  or  criminal  persecution. 
Solomon  tried  his  cases  accordin'  to  them  principles,  and  he 
was  the  wisest  man  that  ever  lived  up  to  thet  time. 

"  People  in  this  neighborhood  done  learn  how  to  appre- 


AFTER    ALL.  253 

ciate  me,  and  they  bring  all  kinds  of  cases,  grievances,  and 
businesses  to  me  for  me  to  decide  and  settle  accordin'  to  my 
principles  of  primary  ekerty.  And  its  seldom  they  ever 
kick  against  my  decisions  and  ruliu's,  too,  'cause,  as  I  tell 
'em,  I  hev  to  uphold  the  majesty  of  the  law,  and  hev  to  be 
mighty  strict,  and  can't  take  no  foolin'. 

"  Some  time  ago  there  was  a  young  lawyer  come  out  here 
from  the  city  to  try  a  case  —  we  don't  hev  no  lawyers  out 
here  'cause  they  don't  thrive  where  you  got  a  good  judge 
thet  tries  cases  accordin'  to  primary  principles.  —  Well,  this 
young  feller,  O,  he  was  a  dandy  —  hair  parted  so  plumb  in 
the  middle,  it  must  been  done  with  a  spirit  level,  —  per- 
fumery—  smelt  like  a  whole  flower  garden — and  speckled 
red  necktie,  shoes  jus'  as  shiny  and  slick  as  his  hair,  long- 
tailed  coat,  and  rings  on  his  fingers,  soft  white  hands,  and 
pink  cheeks  —  O,  he  certinly  was  pretty.  Lots  of  the  wim- 
min  folks  came  sneakin'  round,  and  peepin'  in  jus'  to  get  a 
look  at  him. 

"  He  came  out  here  drivin'  a  spankin'  pair  of  horses 
hitched  to  some  sort  of  a  fancy  rig,  and  had  a  driver  thet 
was  dressed  up  most  as  fine  as  hisself . 

"  The  case  where  he  was  goin'  to  try  was  one  involvin' 
title  to  some  real  estate  out  here  containing  some  very 
valuable  timber.  He  said  his  client  was  one  of  them  cor- 
poration companies  or  partnerships  bodies  thet  they  hev  in 
cities.  I  ain't  never  been  to  the  city,  and  I  don't  know 
much  about  'eni ;  but  I  hev  heard  thet  they  was  bodies  of 
men  banded  together  like  a  army  to  commit  murders  and 
such  crimes  thet  one  man  by  hisself  wouldn't  dare  to  do. 
If  they  was  to  come  out  here  I'd  mighty  soon  break  'em  up 


254  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

with  my  primary  principles.  However,  thet's  off  the 
track,  —  as  I  was  sayin',  this  young  man  said  thet  this 
client  of  his  claimed  title  to  the  land,  and  they  wanted  to 
bring  suit,  and  recover  it,  and  hev  the  timber  cut.  I  knew 
all  about  the  land,  and  I  knew  it  had  been  in  the  possession 
of  my  old  friend  Joe  Baker  ever  since  this  part  of  the 
country  was  settled.  Joe  cut  down  the  first  tree,  and  built 
the  first  fire  thet  was  ever  built  on  it  to  my  knowledge,  and 
I  knew  no  lying  corporation  company  didn't  hev  no  title 
to  it. 

"  Well,  thet  young  man  drove  up  to  my  door,  and  hol- 
lered like  somebody  calling  dogs.  I  went  out,  and  spoke 
to  him  very  politely,  and  asked  him  what  he  wanted.  He 
said :  '  Say,  old  man,  can  you  tell  me  the  way  to  the 
Court  House,  and  clerk's  office  for  the  country  around 
here?'  I  didn't  say  nothin'  —  I  simply  pointed  with  my 
thumb  over  my  shoulder  to  my  house.  '  What!  '  he  says, 
'  is  that  the  Court  House? '  I  says  '  yes,  thet's  the  only 
one  I  know  anything  about  within  twenty-five  miles  of 
here.' 

"  Then  he  says,  '  Where's  the  judge  and  the  clerk?  ' 

"  '  Right  here,  sir;  I'm  thet  gentleman,'  I  says. 

"He  looked  kinder  surprised  at  thet,  and  his  eyes  popped 
as  though  de  didn't  know  whether  to  believe  me,  or  to  think 
I  was  jokin'  with  him.  But  twenty-five  years  on  the  bench 
hev  give  me  such  an  imposin'  and  dignified  air,  he  soon  saw 
I  wan't  no  man  for  foolin'. 

"  '  I  am  glad  to  meet  you,  Judge,'  he  said,  '  and  can 
you  tell  me  where  a  man  named  Joseph  Baker  lives  in  this 
neighborhood?  ' 


AFTER    ALL.  255 

"  '  Yes,  sir,  —  right  over  there,'  says  I,  pointin'  to  Joe's 
house  over  yonder  about  half  a  mile  off. 

"  '  He  owns  a  good  deal  of  valuable  timber  land,  doesn't 
he?' 

"  '  B'lieve  he  do,'  I  answers. 

"  '  Well,'  he  says,  '  he's  the  man  I'm  after,  and  I  want 
to  investigate  his  title,  and  bring  suit  to  upset  it.' 

"  '  The  court  is  open  '  I  says. 

"  '  I  want  to  try  it  right  away,  as  soon  as  possible ;  '  he 
says,  '  as  I  don't  want  to  stay  in  this  miserable  country 
any  longer  than  is  absolutely  necessary.' 

"  '  All  right,  sir,'  I  says,  —  '  come  on,  —  I'm  the  officer 
of  jestice,  law  and  ekerty,  and  here's  the  Court  House.  The 
door  of  my  temple  of  jestice  is  always  open ;  its  hinges 
don't  need  no  greasin'.  Get  your  witnesses,  and  I'll  tell  the 
constable  to  notify  Joe  Baker,  and  let  him  get  his,  and  we'll 
proceed  with  the  trial.' 

"  '  You  must  have  a  very  summary  way  of  trying  cases 
out  here,'  he  says. 

"  '  Yes,'  I  answers,  '  we  don't  delay  jestice  no  longer  than 
is  necessary.  We  always  like  to  try  cases  before  the  facts 
and  the  evidence  is  cold.  Jestice  is  jestice,  but  it's  better 
fresh  than  stale.' 

"'But  you  don't  mean  to  tell  me,'  he  says,  '  that  you 
have  the  power,  the  jurisdiction,  and  the  legal  authority  to 
try  all  by  yourself  a  case  involving  the  title  to  real  estate, 
and  in  so  short  a  time,  and  without  a  jury?  Suppose  I 
win  the  case  before  you  —  my  clients  wouldn't  get  good, 
indefeasible  title? ' 

"  '  Well,'  I  answers,  '  my  jurisdiction  and  authority  on 


256  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

such  points  ain't  never  been  disputed.  Don't  you  worry, 
you  try  your  case,  and  I  promise  you  it  will  be  conducted 
accordin'  to  the  principles  of  primary  ekerty  ;  and  if  jestice 
says  your  client  ought  to  get  that  property,  he's  goin'  to 
get  it,  and  tain't  nobody  goin'  to  dispute  the  decree  of  my 
court.  Get  down,  sir.'  I  says,  '  and  come  in.  I'll  hev 
your  horses  fed,  and  it's  'bout  time  we  was  takin'  a  bite 
ourselves.' 

"  So  the  young  feller  and  his  driver  stepped  out,  and  went 
to  the  hind'  part  of  the  buggy,  and  got  out  a  whole  bag 
full  of  law  books  he  had  done  brought  with  him ;  never  saw 
so  many  in  my  life  —  didn't  know  there  was  thet  many  in 
the  world . 

"  '  Has  you  got  any  work  there  on  the  primary  principles 
of  ekerty  ?  '  I  asked  him. 

"  '  No,'  he  said,  '  I  never  heard  of  that  work  before.' 

"  '  Ain't  you?  '  I  says,  '  well,  I  don't  know  as  it's  been 
published  yet,  but  you'll  hear  of  it  some  day.  You  ain't 
got  no  book  there  on  natchul  jestice  neither?  ' 

"  '  No,'  he  says,  '  I  hevn't  thet  neither  —  the  books  I 
brought  are  mostly  works  on  real  estate.' 

"  '  Well,'  I  answers,  'I  don't  guess  it's  in  the  gineral 
libraries  yet,  but  I  hev  it  in  my  private  library,  and  it's  a 
great  work :  it's  got  a  lot  about  real  estate  in  it,  too,  and  it 
always  has  great  weight  with  me  in  deciding  cases.'  " 

XIX. 

"  We  went  in  then  and  had  some  dinner,"  the  Justice  con- 
tinued, "  aud  after  that  I  went  out  in  the  porch,  and  blew 


AFTER    ALL.  257 

my  horn  for  Jack  Timkens,  the  constable.  Jack  lives  over 
on  the  hill  'bout  quarter  mile  away,  convenient  to  the  Court 
House.  He  and  I  is  the  pillars  of  jestice  for  this  com- 
munity. Jack  is  a  great  big  feller,  as  strong  as  a  bull,  and 
ain't  af card  of  nothin' — not  even  the  devil  hisself,  and  I 
got  him  'pointed  constable  for  those  reasons.  You  see,  I'm 
the  law-makin',  and  judicial  branch  of  the  local  govern- 
ment, and  Jack  he  is  the  executive.  He  stands  for  the 
physical  strength  and  force  of  the  law,  as  I  stand  lor 
the  mind,  the  wisdom  and  jestice.  It's  mighty  seldom 
I  has  to  call  on  Jack  to  exercise  the  slumberin'  power  and 
majesty  of  the  law,  but  when  I  do,  I  tell  you,  he  ain't  long 
in  upholdin'  the  dignity  of  the  court,  and  enforcin'  its  law 
and  orders.  There's  always  some  people,  you  know,  who 
won't  or  can't  recognize  the  primary  principles  of  ekerty 
and  natchul  jestice,  and  when  I  run  across  thet  class,  I  has 
to  call  in  Jack  to  assert  the  court's  perogatives.  Some  peo- 
ple don't  pay  no  'tention  to  head-law  like  I  dispenses,  so  I 
has  to  call  on  Jack  to  'minister  arm-law  to  'em.  My  head- 
law  is  sufficient  for  most  people,  but  some  few  ain't  never 
satisfied  till  Jack  expounds  his  body-law  to  'em  ;  then  they 
gets  satisfied  mighty  quick.  For  I  tell  .you,  Jack  knows  a  heap 
of  good  law :  his  law  ain't  as  deep  and  wise  as  mine,  but  it's 
more  practical :  mine's  mostly  theoretical.  Jack  ain't  got 
much  law  in  his  head,  but  he's  got  a  plenty  in  his  arms,  legs, 
and  back,  and  it's  mighty  good,  convincin'  law.  When  I 
renders  my  decree,  and  Jack  he  executes  it,  there  is  giuerally 
nothin'  more  to  be  said  in  the  case. 

"  But  as  I  was  telling  you,  after  dinner  I  went  out,  as  I 
always  does  when  a  case  is  institooted,  and  blew  my  born 

17 


258  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

for  Jack.  In  a  little  while  Jack  come  over,  and  I  told  him 
of  the  young  feller  where  was  come  to  recover  Joe  Baker's 
land,  and  sent  him  over  to  bring  Joe  and  such  witnesses 
as  waii't  in  hearin'  distance  of  the  horn.  For  when  I  blows 
the  horn,  all  the  neighbors  that  hears  it  come  a-runnin'  to 
the  Court  House,  as  they  know  a  case  is  on. 

"  Well,  twan't  long  before  the  crowd  had  come,  and  Joe 
was  ready  with  his  testimony.  He  looked  mighty  surprised 
and  skeered,  too,  and  his  eyes  was  most  poppin'  out  his  head  ; 
and  he  told  me  on  one  side  thet  the  institooting  of  the  suit 
was  a  great  surprise  to  him,  as  he  hadn't  heard  it  was  goin' 
to  be  brought,  and  wasn't  prepared  to  set  up  his  title,  though 
he  couldn't  see  what  grounds  the  other  side  claimed  it  on. 
I  told  him  not  to  worry,  and  keep  cool  till  he  had  done  heard 
the  evidence,  and  seen  what  sort  a  case  they  could  make  out 
against  him. 

"  When  they  was  all  ready  I  rapped  for  order,  and  told 
Jack  Timkins  to  open  court.  That  bein'  done,  I  told  the 
plaintiff  to  open  up  his  case,  and  introduce  his  evidence ; 
that  the  court  was  in  session,  and  was  ready  to  'minister 
jestice  to  all  parties. 

"Then  thet  young  dude  got  up,  and  begun  to  open  his 
books,  and  took  out  a  roll  of  maps  and  papers,  and  said 
thet  he  had  a  land  patent,  or  government  grant,  or  some 
such  thing,  givin'  his  client,  thet  corporation  company,  such 
and  so  many  acres  of  land,  for  value  received,  thirty  years 
ago,  in  such  and  such  a  county  and  State,  such  said  land, 
aforesaid  bein'  covered  with  such  and  so  many  valuable  to- 
wit  feet  of  timber,  and  now  bein'  in  possession  of,  and 
occupied  by  a  certain  person  bein'  and  known,  and  com- 


AFTER    ALL.  259 

monly  called  as  one  certain  to-wit  Joseph  Baker ;  where- 
fore he  brings  his  action  of  ejectment  and  so  forth,  and 
shows  his  aforesaid  maps  and  papers  to  the  Court  as  evi- 
dence in  the  case. 

"  When  he  got  through,  I  asked  him  if  thet  was  all ;  and 
he  said  yes,  thet  was  all  for  the  present. 

"  Then  Joe  Baker  took  the  stand,  and  told  me  his  side  of 
the  case:  —  how  he'd  had  the  land  for  twenty-five  year, 
and  had  been  the  first  settler  on  it,  and  had  cleared  it  off 
with  his  own  hands :  how  he'd  raised  his  family  on  it, 
buried  his  wife  and  two  or  three  childrun  on  it,  and  how  he 
hoped  to  be  buried  on  it  hisself  when  he  died. 

"  When  he  got  through,  the  young  dudie  started  to  cross 
examine  him,  and  he  asked  him  such  personal  and  iusultin' 
questions  —  throwin'  all  kinds  of  'sinuations  on  Joe's  char- 
acter, thet  I  called  him  down,  and  told  him  he  had  to  con- 
duct hisself  in  a  more  respectful  manner  to  the  witnesses 
in  a  court  of  jestice.  Then  the  pretty  little  feller  got  hot  — 
yes  indeed !  —  his  face  turned  red  as  a  termato,  and  he 
jumped  up  and  went  off  like  a  firecracker.  He  hit  his  fist 
on  the  table,  and  I  do  believe  he  even  shook  it  at  the  Court 
of  jestice :  he  said  the  Court  was  biassed  and  predjudiced, 
and  it  didn't  hev  authority  and  jurisdiction  to  try  the  case 
nohow  ;  and  thet  it  wasn't  a  fit  court  to  try  a  case  of  dog 
stealin'  anyway  ;  thet  the  law  was  all  on  his  side,  and  thet 
he  was  goin'  to  some  higher  court  where  law  would  be 
recognized  and  respected,  and  he  could  get  jestice. 

"  He  went  on  in  thet  strain  till  he  was  most  out  of  breath, 
and  had  to  sit  down.  Then,  I  asked  him  if  he  was 
through.  '  Yes,'  he  said,  usin'  some  cityfied  cuss  word, 


260  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

'  yes,  and  I'm  going  straight  back  to  town  now,  but  I  will 
be  out  here  again  in  a  short  time  to  see  you  through.'  He 
called  his  driver  then,  got  up,  and  started  to  go  out. 

"  '  Hold  on  a  minute,'  I  said,  —  'jestice  ain't  been  minis- 
tered yet,  and  the  case  ain't  dismissed.  I  think  it's  too 
late  for  you  two  to  take  thet  long  journey  back  to  the  city 
this  evening,  and  I  think  you  had  better  spend  the  night 
with  us.  Mr.  Constable,  you'll  take  thet  young  man,  and 
lock  him  up  in  my  corn  crib  for  contempt  of  a  court  of 
gineral  jestice.  And  I  hereby  dismisses  this  case,  and  give 
jedgment  in  favor  of  the  defendant  accordin'  to  the  primary 
principles  of  ekerty  and  natchul  jestice.'  ' 

Justice  Barley  paused  for  the  first  time  in  this  long, 
digressive  monologue.  He  stretched  out  his  feet,  and  stuck 
his  hands  in  his  trousers  pockets,  and  looked  at  the  two 
listeners  with  a  shrewd  twinkle  in  his  eye,  as  though  he 
expected  from  them  some  expression  of  approval.  He  was 
not  disappointed. 

"  Good  for  you,  Judge,"  John  said:  "and  you  locked 
him  up  in  the  corn  crib,  did  you?  And  what  did  he  do?  " 

4 '  Do !  —  what  could  he  do  ?  Jack  caught  him  up  in  his 
arms  like  he  was  a  little  baby,  and  carried  him  out  there,  and 
chucked  him  in  head  foremost,  and  locked  the  door  and  left 
him.  Goodness'  sake! — you  never  heard  such  a  stream 
of  ginteel,  edgycated,  cityfied  cussin'  in  your  life  ;  and  he 
kicked  and  squirmed  like  a  fishing  worm,  but  Jack  laughed 
at  him.  We  stood  the  cussin'  for  a  little  while  to  give  him 
a  chance  to  cool  off.  But  he  kept  it  up,  and  it  got  so  vile, 
thet  the  Court  went  out  there,  and  told  him  thet  he  would 
get  an  extry  hour  in  there  for  every  oath ;  and  after  a 


AFTER    ALL.  261 

little  while  he  commenced  to  sober  up  and  simmer  down. 
My  wife,  with  a  woman's  curiosity,  would  listen  at  him,  and 
I  didn't  want  her  to  hear  all  that  dirty  cussin'  and  carryin' 
on,  and  if  he  hadn't  stopped  when  I  told  him  thet,  the 
Court  was  goin'  to  order  the  constable  to  gag  him. 

"  We  let  him  stay  in  there  all  night,  and  he  kicked  on  the 
door,  and  tried  to  get  out,  but  twan't  no  use.  It's  mighty 
seldom  we  ever  hev  any  use  for  a  jail  here,  but  I  built  my 
corn-house  strong  so  'twould  be  ready  in  case  of  a  'mergency. 

"  In  the  mornin'  the  little  feller  was  jus'  as  perlite  as  a 
dancin'  master:  he  looked  real  pitiful,  and  his  eyes  looked 
kinder  draggly,  like  he  had  been  doin'  the  wimmen's  and 
baby  act.  I  asked  him  how  he  was  feelin',  and  how  he  had 
spent  the  night,  and  he  said,  '  miserable,  miserable,'  — 
that  the  big  rats  had  been  after  him  all  night,  and  he  hadn't 
had  a  wink  of  sleep. 

"  I  asked  him  if  he  wasn't  satisfied  with  the  decree  of  the 
Court,  and  if  he  didn't  think  the  decision  was  accordin'  to 
the  primary  principles  of  ekerty.  And  he  said  '  yes,'  thet 
he  was  more  than  satisfied,  and  those  was  great  principles. 
Then  he  begged  so  hard,  and  talked  so  humble,  thet  I  let 
him  out,  and  my  wife,  who  is  very  tender-hearted,  and  felt 
sorry  for  him,  gave  him  a  good  breakfast ;  and  he  and  his 
driver  went  on  back  where  they  came  from,  and  we  ain't 
never  see  or  hear  from  'em  since,  and  I  don't  guess  we  ever 
will." 

"  He  never  took  an  appeal,  or  tried  to  take  the  case  to  a 
higher  court,  did  he?  "  John  asked. 

"  Not  to  my  knowledge  —  ain't  never  heard  of  it.  'Spose 
the  young  feller  satisfied  hisself  thet  night  in  the  corn-crib 


262  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

thet  Joe  Baker  had  a  good  title,  and  that  my  court  was  the 
top  notch  of  jestice  in  this  community.  Jack  Timkins,  and 
my  corn-crib  and  big  rats  is  valuable  adjuncts  in  the 
enforcing  of  gineral  jestice. 

"  Well,"  Justice  Barley  continued,  "  I  done  talkandtalk, 
and  told  you  what  sort  of  man  you  is  dealin'  with  now,  till  I 
guess  you  air  tired  —  'specially  after  the  shock  you  expe- 
rienced this  evening.  And  now  what's  your  business,  and 
what  can  1  do  for  you  ? ' ' 

"  Well,  Judge,"  Mrs.  Van  Bergen  said,  "  we  want  to  get 
married — Mr.  John  Ardslye  and  myself:  we  want  you  to 
marry  us  if  you  can." 

"  Umph,"  grunted  the  justice,  —  "  want  to  get  mar- 
'ied!  —  eh? — umph — I  might  hev  knowed  it.  I  thought 
'twas  mighty  strange — you  two  young  people  of  opposite  and 
entirely  different  sexes,  and  no  blood  kin,  or  legal  affinity, 
come  a-drivin*  for  twenty-five  miles  by  yourselves ,  and  let 
the  horses  run  away.  Mighty  curious  tale,  I  thought  all 
the  time :  I  thought  there  was  somethin'  up  your  sleeves 
where  you  hadn't  let  out;  but  I  didn't  say  nothin'  as  'twas 
none  of  my  business.  Want  me  to  marry  you  if  I  can?- — 
of  course  I  can ;  and  tain't  a  better  marrier  in  the  country 
than  I  is.  I  can  put  up  the  finest  job  of  matrimony  you  ever 
see,  and  nobody  ain't  never  dissatisfied  with  my  marryin'. 
I  marry,  and  unmarry  couples  any  time,  and  always  give 
satisfaction. 

"  Some  folks  think  it's  better  to  be  married  by  a  preacher, 
but  the  ministers  in  these  parts  is  so  disrep' table  and 
deserpated,  thet  decent  people  prefers  to  be  married  by  a 
jestice.  They'd  ruther  be  married  by  the  officer  of  the  law 


AFTER    ALL.  263 

than  by  the  officer  of  the  gospel.  The  preachers,  they 
adulterate  the  gospel  with  corruption,  and  the  lawyers,  they 
adulterate  the  law ;  but  round  here  the  preachers  is  worse 
adulterators  than  the  lawyers  is,  and  they  done  got  the  gospel 
in  such  a  fix  it  ain't  fit  to  be  married  by. 

"  'Twas  a  preacher  over  here  some  time  ago  where 
married  a  couple  while  he  was  under  the  influence  of  strong 
drink,  and  he  done  it  so  funny,  and  made  such  a  bunglin' 
job  thet  the  couple  didn't  know  whether  they  was  married 
or  not,  and  they  was  thereby  placed  in  a  very  embarrassing 
situation.  And  they  ain't  certain  about  the  correctness  of 
the  marryin'  to  this  day,  neither,  although  they's  had  a 
dozen  or  more  children.  The  lady  always  said  she  didn't 
feel  satisfied,  and  was  goin'  to  get  me  to  marry  her  over 
again  in  the  right  fashion.  But  she  kept  puttin'  it  off,  and 
puttin'  it  off,  till  now  I  doubt  if  she  is  ever  married  right. 
People  can't  be  too  keerful  in  the  way  they  is  married ; 
they  ought  to  get  it  done  right.  If  the  horses  ain't  hitched 
together  right  there's  goin'  to  be  friction,  and  kickin',  and 
trouble  all  along  the  road.  Oxes  don't  pull  together  nice 
'less  the  yoke  is  put  on  right. 

"  I  ginerally  charge  five  dollars  for  marryin' ;  while  thet 
may  not  be  as  cheap  as  some  preachers  and  magistrates  do 
it  for,  yet  it's  better  to  pay  a  little  more,  and  know  you  got 
the  thing  done  right.  It  don't  pay  to  hev  things  done 
too  cheap ;  what  you  save  in  money  you  lose  in  quality. 
No  fifty  cent  marriage  would  do  for  me.  I  wouldn't  feel 
like  I  was  married  good  if  I  had  been  spliced  by  one  of 
these  jack-leg,  cheap  marryers.  Then  I  couldn't  afford  to 
do  it  no  cheaper  ;  it's  a  great  responsibility  marryin'  people, 


264  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

and  five  dollars  is  as  low  as  I  could  undertake  it  for.  I 
'spose  you  heard  of  my  reputation  as  a  good  raarryer, 
reason  you  come  out  here?  " 

"  No,"  John  answered,  replying  to  the  interrogative 
intonation  of  Barley's  last  sentence,  "  we  had  not  intended 
to  be  married  so  soon  ;  but  after  getting  here  and  finding 
out  what  sort  of  a  man  you  are,  we  think  it  too  good  an 
opportunity  to  miss,  and  we  want  you  to  settle  the  matter 
at  once.  But  how  about  the  license  —  can  you  give  us  the 
license,  and  will  it  be  good  and  lawful  everywhere  we  go?  " 

"  Can  I  give  you  a  license?  "  Barley  repeated  in  a  tone 
which  smacked  of  irritated  injury,  —  "of  course  I  can  give 
you  one.  This  other  young  couple  thet's  goin'  to  be  mar- 
ried here  to-night  is  goin'  to  be  married  under  my  license. 
Yes,  indeed,  you  needn't  be  uneasy  about  the  validitj^  of 
my  license :  by  virtue  of  my  office  I  performs  all  the  dooties 
and  details  pertaining  to  marriage,  divorce,  and  separation. 
And  I'll  tell  you  right  now  that  if  you  ever  want  a  divorce- 
ment, there  ain't  nobody  can  untie  my  knots  as  quick  and 
easy  as  myself,  if  they  can  untie  them  at  all." 

X. 

Having  been  married,  John  and  his  wife,  next  day  re- 
turned to  the  city,  and  took  up  their  residence  at  Maud's 
magnificent  home.  People  wondered  at  the  eccentric  fea- 
tures of  the  sudden  marriage,  but  John  and  his  bride  cared 
not  a  snap  for  that.  For  some  weeks  there  was  a  whirl  of 
gaiety  —  balls,  receptions,  operas,  entertainments  of  all 
kinds.  Maud  was  in  the  quotidian  of  her  love ;  it  raged 


AFTER    ALL.  265 

fiercely  for  a  time  —  reached  its  white  heat,  and  then  began 
to  grow  cool.  With  the  characteristic  vacillation  of  her 
nature,  the  ardor  for  her  new  hobby  of  love  soon  commenced 
to  wane.  The  giddy  infatuation  of  a  frivolous  and  senti- 
mental nature  began  to  burn  out,  and  Maud  Ardslye  found 
herself  a  soberer,  if  not  more  sane  woman.  It  was  not 
long  before  she  found  herself  conjecturing  if  a  surfeit  of 
love  were  not  a  possibility. 

After  that  it  was  but  a  little  while  before  she  consciously 
admitted  to  herself  that  she  had  taken  a  too  hasty  step  in 
marrying  John  Ardslye  ;  that  he  had  been  but  an  impecunious 
nonentity  whom  she  had  espoused,  and  brought  into  promi- 
nence ; —  handsome,  and  clever,  it  is  true,  but  then  there 
were  hundreds  of  other  men  of  more  social  distinction  who 
were  that.  She  recognized  the  fact  that  she  had  loved  to 
satiety. 

From  love  surfeited  to  repulsion  and  hate  is  but  a  step, 
and  in  a  short  time  Maud  actually  loathed  her  husband. 
Nor  did  she  take  pains  to  conceal  her  feelings  from  him. 
She  was  not  the  woman  to  do  that.  With  all  her  violent 
vagaries  of  fancy  she  was  usually  outspoken.  Accustomed 
to  dogmatic  ruling,  she  seldom  had  heed  of,  and  had  never 
acquired  the  habitual  wiles  of  hypocrisy.  All  through  life 
her  impetuous  will  and  her  wealth,  with  cyclonic  force  and 
suddenness  had  swept  obstacles  out  of  her  path.  With 
unmistakable  words  and  actions  she  soon  apprised  John  of 
the  fact  that  she  had  had  enough  of  him. 

"  You  married  me  for  my  wealth,  and  the  consequent 
social  position  and  prominence  which  would  redound  to 
you,"  she  was  telling  him  in  one  of  those  little  boudoir 


266  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

battle  of  words  in  which  she  and  her  husband  now  fre- 
quently engaged:  "you  never  really  loved  me,  and  never 
will.  The  only  arrows  that  ever  entered  your  heart  were 
ones  tipped  with  gold,  and  winged  with  bank  notes.  I 
should  have  married  a  man  of  wealth  and  social  position 
equal  to  my  own,  when  I  would  have  little  cause  to  doubt 
the  sincerity  of  his  attachment.  Men  are  unsentimental, 
practical,  calculating  creatures,  anyway,  and  if  there  is  the 
slightest  odds  against  them  I  will  never  believe  in  the  reality 
of  their  love.  I  was  a  goose  for  falling  so  desperately  in  love 
with  you,  that  I  could  not  see  that  cupidity,  and  not  Cupid 
was  the  inspiration  of  your  devotion.  Here  I  am  tied  to  a 
cold-blooded  serpent  of  avarice,  and  a  nobody  at  that. 
You  sold  your  scheming  attractiveness,  and  your  good  looks 
in  the  market  of  woman's  affections,  and  you've  gotten,  you 
think,  a  good  price.  While  here  I  am,  poor  woman !  mar- 
ried to  a  man  who  does  not  love  me,  a  man  who  through  his 
evil  machinations  easily  took  advantage  of  my  confiding  and 
enjotional  sex,  and  duped  me  into  marrying  him :  a  man, 
who,  cloaking  his  real  motives  under  the  innocent  garb  of 
love,  took  advantage  of  my  tender  woman's  passions,  and 
utilized  them  as  a  passport  to  my  safe  deposit  vaults.  Oh, 
what  a  fool  I've  been !  I  loathe  a  hypocrite :  I  detest  a  man 
who  will  debase  the  sacred  passions,  and  make  them  his 
vehicle  to  commercial  success." 

John  had  reached  that  stage  now  where  he  ceased  to  reply 
save  in  very  few  words  to  these  attacks.  He  took  them 
stoically  as  he  could,  making  neither  defense  nor  counter- 
attack. When  the  tide  first  commenced  to  turn,  and  he  had 
noticed  her  incipient  coldness,  and  when  she  began  to  show 


AFTER    ALL.  267 

indifference,  and  then  to  make  little  insinuations  and  incisive 
remarks  with  all  the  unexpressed  meaning  a  woman  can 
throw  into  such  things ;  —  then  he  had  tried  to  stop  the 
ebbing  —  he  had  shown  himself  the  warmest  of  lovers,  and 
had  tried  to  win  her  confidence  and  prove  his  love.  Again, 
when  at  the  next  stage,  she  had  come  out  and  accused  him 
openly  of  not  loving  her,  he  had  denied  it,  making  such 
adjustments  of  his  conscience  and  the  truth  as  he  could. 

But  now  as  things  grew  from  bad  to  worse,  and  as  all  his 
efforts  to  ameliorate  conditions  had  proved  fruitless,  he 
strove  to  harden  himself,  to  bear  it  philosophically  if  he 
could,  stoically  if  he  must,  leaving  results  in  the  hands  of 
fate.  Hence  he  took  his  wife's  vitriolic  remarks  in  silence. 
He  could  love  no  woman  who  spoke  to  him  thus,  even  had 
he  ever  done  so.  Not  even  a  pretense  of  affection  was 
possible.  John  had  noble  elements  in  him  after  all,  and 
beyond  a  certain  point  his  nature  rebelled  against  dissimu- 
lation, even  though  it  were  expedient. 


Immediately  after  marrying  Maud  Van  Bergen,  John  had 
congratulated  and  endeavored  to  persuade  himself  that  he 
was,  and  had  every  cause  to  be,  the  happiest  man  alive. 
Success  more  brilliant  than  he  had  ever  hoped  for  seemed 
to  have  come  to  him.  What  more  wa'S  there  for  him  to  do 
but  to  enjoy  life?  Wealth,  and  fame,  too,  in  a  measure,  he 
had.  What  was  left  to  work  for?  Why  should  not  his  life 
henceforth  be  one  delightful  pastime? 

John,  with  the  buoyant  heart  of  youth,  had  not  recked  of 


268  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

all  the  factors  going  to  make  up  human  existence.  He 
became  very  unhappy  when  Maud  lost  her  infatuation  for 
him,  and  began  to  do  all  she  could  to  make  his  life  miser- 
able. In  public,  as  long  as  he  was  her  husband,  she  had  to 
maintain  him  in  the  respect  and  dignity  clue  that  relation ; 
but  in  private  he  was  unprotected,  and  she  then  applied 
unmercifully  to  him  every  lash  and  sting  her  character  and 
position  gave  her  command  of . 

Thus  it  went  on,  and  the  years  rolled  heavily  by,  ever 
increasing  John's  unhappiuess.  He  seldom  saw  his  wife 
now ;  he  and  she  had  separate  apartments,  and  there  was 
very  little  communication  of  any  kind  between  them. 

John  had  resumed  his  business,  as  he  found  it  necessary 
to  make  even  his  pin  money ;  but  it  was  in  a  half-hearted 
way,  which  brought  him  little  success.  His  marriage  with 
Mrs.  Van  Bergen,  and  his  subsequent  period  of  idleness 
and  ease  had  ruined  his  prospects  as  a  man  of  active  work 
and  business.  People  had  come  to  look  upon  him  as  the 
good-for-nothing  husband  of  Mrs.  Ardslye. 

Often  when  alone  in  these  days  of  unhappiness,  his 
thoughts  would  go  back  through  the  years,  and  he  would 
think  of  Laura  —  of  the  days  they  had  spent  together —  of 
their  love.  He  wondered  what  had  become  of  her  —  where 
she  was — what  sort  of  a  life  she  lived.  He  wondered  if 
she  ever  thought  of  him  now  ;  if  she  loved  him  still ;  if  his 
child  lived.  And  then  a  great  lump  would  seem  to  rise  in 
his  throat,  and,  choked  with  bitter  grief,  unspeakable  long- 
ing and  anguish,  he  would  put  his  head  in  his  hands,  and 
shed  tears.  Afterwards  he  would  take  from  his  pocket  a 
card-case,  and  take  therefrom,  where  he  always  carried 


AFTER    ALL.  269 

them,  a  letter,  a  faded  pressed  rose,  and  a  little  lock  of  fair 
hair.  He  would  hold  these,  and  look  at  them,  and  perhaps 
kiss  them,  for  a  while. 

John  and  Mrs.  Van  Bergen  had  not  been  married  for 
more  than  a  year  before  the  latter  had  become  desperately 
enamoured  of  another  young  man  —  Harold  Byrnewood. 
It  was  a  re-enactment  of  the  love  affair  with  John  plus  the 
obstacle,  in  the  latter  case,  of  the  sacred  bonds  of  matri- 
mony, or,  more  properly,  the  legal  barriers  prohibiting 
bigamous  marriages. 

One  day  while  burning  with  the  ardor  of  this  latest  love, 
Mrs.  Ardslye  had  come  unexpectedly  into  her  husband's 
sitting  room  and  found  him  reading  letters  which  he  hastily 
slipped  into  his  desk  upon  seeing  her.  She,  apparently,  did 
not  notice  the  act,  and  paid  no  attention  to  it  then.  But 
that  afternoon  when  John  went  out  for  a  drive,  she  went  to 
his  apartments,  looked  for,  and  found  a  key  which  would 
open  his  desk,  and  went  through  his  papers.  There  she 
found  a  bundle  of  letters  written  to  John  long  before  by 
Laura.  A  thought  flashed  through  her  mind.  "  At  last 
1  have  evidence !"  she  exclaimed  to  herself.  She  hastily 
reclosed  the  desk,  and  taking  the  letters  with  her,  went 
out. 

That  night  she  and  young  Byrnewood  spent  hours  in 
secret  conference  in  her  drawing  room. 

"  I  find,  Harold,  dear,"  she  had  told  him,  "  that  wealth 
can  accomplish  almost  anything.  Of  course  people  will 
talk  and  criticise ;  but  what  do  we  care?  A  big  bank  ac- 
count can  laugh  at  public  opinion.  I  am  thankful  to  say 
that  my  independent  fortune  enables  me  to  do  just  as  I 


270  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

please.  Even  were  it  coupled  with  depravity  and  folly, 
wealth  will  always  command  respect  from  the  obsequious 
world.  Married  or  not,  I  will  keep  company  with  you  as 
much  as  I  choose,  and  little  I  care  what  people  say.  Still, 
I  would  prefer  the  divorce  if  it  is  practicable.  We  will 
skilfully  change  their  dates,  and  this  evidence  backed  by 
my  purse,  will,  I  hope,  prove  sufficient,  dear.  You  will 
see  to  it  at  once." 

In  a  few  days  John  had  been  notified  that  a  suit  for 
divorce  had  been  filed  against  him  by  his  wife.  The  bill 
alleged  violation  of  the  marriage  vow  as  the  ground  for 
divorce.  There  were  witnesses — some  of  Mrs.  Ardslye's 
servants  —  who  gave  incriminating  testimony;  and  the 
letters  were  offered  as  corroborative  evidence  of  John's 
illegal  relations  with  some  incognito. 

John  fervently  prayed  in  his  heart  that  the  divorce 
would  be  granted.  But  it  was  not.  The  evidence  was 
not  strong  enough,  and  the  court  of  its  own  knowledge 
well  knew  that  a  defense  of  recrimination  could  be  set  up, 
and  that  a  divorce  meant  simply  a  little  wider  and  more 
notorious  opening  of  the  door  to  licentiousness. 

Thus  the  attempt  to  sever  the  nominal  relation  of  husband 
and  wife  which  existed  between  them,  had  failed,  and  John 
was  left  hopelessly  tied  to  the  cause  of  his  woe. 

As  the  years  went  by  they  brought  him  some  recompense 
for  his  unhappiness  in  the  way  of  a  stronger  character,  and 
a  growth  and  development  of  the  good  which  was  in  him. 
He  had  time  for  reflection,  and  he  weighed  the  elements  of 
life  in  the  balance  of  knowledge  gained  through  bitter 
experience. 

Conquered  weakness  is  the  best  corner-stone  on  which  a 


AFTER    ALL.  271 

noble  character  was  ever  founded.  Characters  thus  founded 
are  the  ones  of  combative,  inherent  strength.  They  shape 
and  mold  themselves  through  their  own  might,  and  are 
stronger  for  every  victory.  Affliction  is  the  best  tutor  for 
the  haughty ;  and  suffering  is  often  the  most  skilled  artisan 
in  shaping  a  human  life  in  its  most  perfect  and  beautiful 
finish.  Year  after  year,  John  became  a  higher  and  stronger 
man. 

XII. 

One  summer,  some  nine  years  after  their  marriage,  Maud 
went  on  an  extended  foreign  tour,  and  left  her  husband  at 
home.  John,  weary  and  heart-sore  with  the  emptiness  of 
his  life  and  magnificent  misery,  resolved  to  go  hunting,  and 
take  an  outing  in  the  wild  mountains  of  the  West.  He 
would  take  no  one  with  him  —  he  wanted  to  be  alone  — 
only  a  gun  and  a  few  other  essentials  for  life  in  the  wilder- 
ness. He  longed  for  the  calm  solitude  of  the  mountain 
fastnesses,  the  unrestrained  freedom  of  an  outdoor  life.  He 
wanted  to  be  away  from  the  hackneyed,  and  confining 
grooves  of  conventionality,  and  in  the  largeness  of  nature. 
His  soul  seemed  parched  by  the  life  he  had  lived,  and  he 
thirsted  for  the  fresh  air  of  the  forest.  He  wished  to  be 
alone  amid  the  ennobling  expanse  of  nature's  solitudes,  and 
to  breathe  in  new  life  and  hope  from  the  pure  ozone  of  the 
mountains. 

Having  decided  on  this  step,  he  was  not  long  in  executing 
it.  One  bright  morning  a  short  time  thereafter,  he  got  off 
the  train  at  a  little  station  in  the  heart  of  the  Rocky  Moun- 
tains, and  started  trudging  up  a  rough,  ill-defined  road. 
He  had  no  definite  plan  of  route  or  direction ;  and  he 
wanted  none.  He  only  wanted  to  wander  in  the  most  un 


272  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

frequented  and  sequestered  mountain  wilds,  unhampered 
by  plan  or  purpose  —  stopping  now  at  a  mountain  cabin, 
now  camping  out,  cooking  his  own  victuals,  and  sleeping 
beneath  the  stars. 

The  road  suited  him,  for  it  seemed  to  lead  deeper  and 
deeper  into  the  wild  hills,  having  no  definite  goal.  On  he 
went,  gradually  ascending  till  the  little  depot  looked  like  a 
small,  whitewashed  box  far  below  in  the  valley.  It  was  a 
beautiful  day ;  the  air  balmy  and  bracing,  and  heavily 
scented  with  the  fragrance  of  wild  thyme.  Whichever  way 
the  eye  turned,  there  were  the  great  blue  ranges  piled  up, 
and  stretching  away  in  infinite  distance  till  they  vanished  in 
gold  and  purple  haze.  A  hawk,  sailing  on  rigid  pinions, 
screamed  its  exultant  paean  high  over  his  head.  A  flock 
of  crows,  cawing  raucously,  flew  from  the  big  oaks  over- 
hanging the  road,  and  sought  shelter  in  the  thick  cedars 
higher  on  the  mountain.  John  drew  in  great  breaths  of  the 
fresh  air,  and  felt  his  spirits  rise  as  he  gazed  about  on  the 
scene  of  untamed  grandeur  and  beauty. 

There  is  a  sublimity  about  the  mountains  and  the  sea  — 
an  awe,  an  impressiveness.  The  majesty  of  their  vast 
magnitudes,  their  silent  testimony  of  power,  force  and 
eternity,  thrills  the  beholder  with  a  solemn  enthusiasm  of 
worship  and  admiration. 

Night  came  on,  and  the  traveler  turned  his  steps  toward 
a  column  of  smoke  he  saw  rising  from  a  little  nook  in  the 
side  of  the  mountains.  He  had  tramped  twenty  miles 
since  morning.  His  noon  meal  had  been  eaten  at  a  way- 
side house  far  down  the  road ;  and  he  was  now  weary  and 
hungry,  and  glad  to  find  some  human  habitation,  however 


AFTER    ALL.  273 

humble,  in  which  he  could  find  food  and  shelter,  without  the 
trouble  of  preparing  these  things  for  himself. 

It  was  an  old  mountaineer's  cabin  which  he  had  reached, — 
small,  low- roofed,  and  moss-grown,  but  having  a  certain  air 
of  comfort  and  cleanliness.  Nearly  covering  its  front 
there  were  skins  of  wild  animals  tacked  up  to  dry.  Some 
long-handled  gourds,  and  some  strings  of  red  pepper  hung 
from  wooden  pegs  driven  in  the  side  joists  of  the  door.  To 
one  side  there  was  a  neat  little  kitchen-garden  and  some  bee 
hives ;  on  the  other  were  some  rude  shanties  which  appar- 
ently had  been  constructed  as  quarters  for  the  goats  and 
poultry  that  were  feeding  near. 

A  small  fice  ran  out  and  barked  with  vehement  indignance 
as  the  stranger  approached  the  dwelling.  Then  the  door 
opened,  and  the  lord  of  the  premises  appeared,  followed  by 
his  wife,  —  an  old  crone  clad  in  homespun,  who  stood  in  the 
door  looking  over  his  shoulder.  They  both  looked  surprised, 
and  a  trifle  uneasy  at  the  advent  of  a  stranger.  The  man 
had  long  gray  hair  and  beard.  He  wore  a  tattered  shirt  of 
blue  jeans,  corduroy  trousers,  tucked  into  high  boots,  and  a 
ragged  felt  hat,  which  he  placed  on  his  head  as  he  emerged 
from  the  door. 

"  Who  you  be,  and  what's  yo'  bus'ness,  and  where  you 
come  from?  "  he  asked,  having  returned  John's  greeting. 

In  brief  words  John  explained  his  mission  in  the  moun- 
tains, and  the  reason  of  his  unexpected  coming  to  their 
home. 

"Come  in,  come  in,"  the  old  fellow  then  said,  "my 
name's  Bill  Burgess;  — Betsy  kin  take  keerof  you,  I  reg- 
gin.  I  don't  know  how  goat's  milk  and  cornbread  and  pos- 

18 


274  STUBS    OF   TIME. 

sum  pie  will  set  on  your  city  stumick,  but  you  kin  try  it ; 
and  we  got  one  spare  room  you  kin  take.  Tain't  nobody 
here  but  me  and  Betsy,  now.  We  got  a  married  daughter 
livin'  East ;  and  we  had  a  son,  but  he  got  killed  in  the  war. 
We  hardly  ever  see  anybody  'cept  Johnnie,  and  his  Ma,  and 
the  old  couple  they  lives  with.  Johnnie,  he  comes  over  here 
'most  every  day,  and  is  heap  of  company  for  us.  We's  jus' 
as  fond  of  him  as  if  he  were  our  own  chile.  Betsy,  she  makes 
him  pies,  and  I  makes  him  chink'pin  whistles,  and  bird  traps, 
and  such  things.  He's  a  mighty  fine  boy,  Johnny  is." 

"  And  who's  Johnnie?  "  John  inquired,  wishing  to  know 
more  of  the  subject  of  this  eulogy. 

"  Johnnie !  "  the  old  man  exclaimed,  as  though  he  thought 
it  strange  that  any  one  should  not  know  who  Johnnie  was,  — 
"  why,  he's  the  chap  that  come  here  some  years  ago  with 
his  mother:  he  was  a  baby  then,  and  his  mother  wanted  to 
live  with  us.  She  was  a  widow  lady  —  had  jus'  lost  her  hus- 
band and  property  and  everything  she  had  in  the  world ;  and 
she  wanted  a  quiet  home  among  decent  folks,  where  she 
could  live,  and  pay  for  herself  and  child  by  doing  such  work 
as  a  strong  young  'oman  kin  do.  We  couldn't  take  her  in,  as 
our  daughter  was  livin'  with  us  then  —  that  bein'  before  she 
was  married  —  although  we'd  liked  to  have  done  it:  —  she 
was  such  a  quiet,  peaceable,  ginteel-lookin'  young  'oman> 
and  with  such  a  soft  gentle  voice  and  manners.  Pretty,  too, 
as  a  picture.  I  was  in  favor  of  riggin'  up  some  sort  of  a 
shanty  for  her  anyway,  and  lettin'  her  stay  with  us ;  but 
Betsy,  she  seein'  how  I  was  lookin'  at  her,  and  how  pretty 
she  was,  got  a  little  kinder  jealous,  I  think,  and  thought 
twouldn't  be  altogether  safe  to  have  her  'bout  the  place, 
even  if  I  is  old.  So  she  referred  her  to  the  old  couple  in 


AFTER    ALL.  275 

the  valley  right  down  there  'bout  three  quarters  of  a  mile 
away.  This  old  couple  was  livin'  there  by  themselves  —  a 
good  old  pair  as  ever  lived,  and  without  a  chick  or  child  in 
the  world.  They  got  a  mighty  nice  little  cottage  and  gar- 
den, and  two  cows,  and  some  sheeps,  and  fowls.  Course 
all  these  things  'quires  considerable  'tention,  and  as  the  old 
people  wasn't  as  active  as  they  used  to  be,  and  couldn't 
turn  about  as  quick,  Betsy  told  this  young  'omaii  that  she 
thought  they  would  be  glad  to  take  her  in. 

"So  we  let  her  spend  the  night  with  us,  although  Betsy  was 
mighty  jealous,  and  watched  me  close  as  she  could.  And 
the  next  moruin'  I  took  the  'oman  down  to  Jake  Huggin's, 
and  introduced  her  to  'em,  and  told  'em  the  situation.  He 
and  his  wife  was  very  much  tickled  at  the  idea,  'specially 
when  they  see  what  a  nice  young  'oraan  she  'peared  to  be ; 
and  they  told  her  that  she  was  welcome  to  make  her  home 
there. 

"  And  there  she  put  up,  and  there's  she  been  ever  since  ; 
and  a  great  blessing  she's  been  to  that  old  couple,  too. 
She  takes  the  management  of  everything  there  now,  and 
they's  got  the  neatest  little  place  you'll  find  anywhere  in 
these  mountains.  It's  a  pretty  valley  they  live  in  —  mighty 
small,  but  then  it  seems  they  got  everything  'round  'em  to 
make  'em  content  and  peaceful. 

"  Johnnie —  that  Johnnie  I  was  tellin'  you  'bout  —  is  that 
widow  lady's  son.  He  some  nine  or  ten  years  old  now,  and 
as  I  was  ii-tellm'  you,  tain't  a  finer  chap  livin.'  He  jus' 
the  life  of  our  two  families ;  for  we's  the  only  people  that 
live  in  ten  miles  of  here,  and  we  don't  know  what  we'd  do 
without  that  boy.  He's  smart  as  a  steel  trap,  too,  —  kin 
hunt,  fish,  trap,  and  do  most  anything.  If  you  want  any- 


276  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

body  to  show  you  where  the  trout  bites  best,  or  where  game 
is  most  likely  to  be  found,  you  ought  to  call  on  him.  He 
knows  every  deer  path,  and  rabbit  track,  and  fox  den  for 
miles  round  here." 

They  had  taken  seats  before  the  fire  in  the  dining,  sit- 
ting, and  living  room  of  the  small  house,  and  the  moun- 
taineer paused  to  take  up  a  firebrand  to  light  his  pipe. 

"Yes,"  John  said,  "  if  I  remain  in  this  neighborhood 
for  any  length  of  time  —  as  I  expect  to  do  —  I  shall  be 
glad  to  have  the  services  of  Johnnie  as  guide  and  instructor 
in  woodcraft ;  for  I  am  virtually  a  novice  in  regard  to 
mountain  life  and  methods." 

Meanwhile,  the  frugal  supper  had  been  laid  by  the  old, 
but  bustling  Mrs.  Burgess ;  and  they  took  their  seats  at  the 
table. 

Having  finished  the  meal,  the  two  men  drew  their  chairs 
to  the  fire  again,  and  John,  taking  some  cigars  from  his 
pocket,  offered  the  old  man  one. 

"  Thankee,  no,"  Mr.  Burgess  said,  "  I  never  smoke  any 
of  those  new-fangled  things.  I  can't  go  back  on  old 
friends  for  new.  This  old  pipe  and  me  has  been  chums  for 
years ;  and  I  always  has  my  own  little  terbacco  patch,  and 
never  smokes  any  other." 

They  sat  by  the  fire  till  a  late  hour,  —  the  old  mountain- 
eer entertaining  his  companion  with  tales  crudely,  but 
graphically  told.  He  told  of  his  war-time  experiences  ;  of 
Ms  mountain  hunting  trips ;  tales  of  local  folklore,  and 
neighborhood  legends  and  traditions. 

John  found  him  a  man  of  interesting  personality  —  rough 
and  unpolished,  it  is  true,  but  original,  and  gifted  with  a 
talent  for  wild  and  picturesque  narrative.  So  pleased  was 


"V, 


•:' 


"WITH  SPINNING  WHEEL  BY  HER  SIDE." 


AFTER    ALL.  277 

Ardslye  with  his  host,  that  before  they  retired  for  the  night, 
he  decided  to  accept  the  invitation  Mr.  Burgess  extended 
him,  to  make  his  house  the  headquarters  of  the  mountain 
sojourn. 

XIII. 

Next  morning,  having  finished  breakfast,  John  with  rod 
and  gun  and  lunch,  started  off  to  take  an  all-day  tramp, 
wishing  to  explore  the  surrounding  country,  and  see  what 
its  possibilities  were  as  a  field  for  game  and  sport.  He  took 
a  tiny  path  which  wound  down  the  mountain  side  for  some 
hundred  yards  and  then  vanished  in  a  thick  growth  of 
beech  and  chestnut.  As  he  drew  near  the  woods,  a  rabbit 
sprang  up  near  the  path,  and  with  its  white  tail  much  in  evi- 
dence, bounced  and  scampered  towards  the  covert  of  the  for- 
est. John  let  drive  with  both  barrels,  and  made  a  clean  miss 
of  it.  He  was  reloading,  when  he  heard  the  clatter  of  bare 
feet  running  rapidly  around  the  turn  in  the  path,  and  a 
childish  voice  rang  out:  "  Did  you  get  him,  Uncle  Tim?  " 

"  No,  I  didn't  get  him,"  said  John,  smiling  as  a  young 
boy  rounded  the  bend,  and  after  nearly  running  into  him, 
came  to  an  abrupt  standstill  on  seeing  a  stranger.  "  And 
I'm  not  Uncle  Tim,"  John  continued,  —  "  I'm  Mr.  Ards- 
lye, and  you,  I  suppose,  are  Johnnie.  Poor  shooting, 
wasn't  it?" 

The  boy  stood  looking  at  him  with  mild-eyed  surprise. 
He  was  a  handsome,  manly  looking  lad  with  big  thoughtful 
blue  eyes,  fair,  closely  cropped  hair,  and  a  ruddy  com- 
plexion. He  wore  a  big  straw  hat,  and  was  plainly,  but 
neatly  dressed  in  shirt  and  trousers  of  some  stout  summer- 
weight  goods. 

They  stood  staring    at  each  other  for  some  time,   John 


278  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

smiling  good-naturedly,  while  the  boy  seemed  to  be  scrutin- 
izing his  every  feature.  Presently  he  smiled  too.  "  What 
was  it?  "  he  inquired,  —  "  a  rabbit?  " 

"  Yes,  a  rabbit,"  John  answered,  "and  I  missed  him 
clear  as  whistle :  can't  you  go  along  with  me,  and  show  me 
how  to  shoot?  I  spent  the  night  with  Mr.  Burgess,  or  Uncle 
Tim,  as  you  call  him,  and  he  told  me  of  you,  and  said  I  ought 
to  get  you  to  go  outing  with  me  to  show  me  the  best  trout 
holes,  and  places  for  game.  I'm  lucky  to  have  met  you. 
Can't  you  go  with  me?  " 

"  Yes,  I  reckon  so,  but  I'll  have  to  go  back,  and  ask 
Mamma.  She  doesn't  know  you,  and  we  see  so  few 
strangers  here,  that  she  tells  me  to  be  careful  how  I  have 
anything  to  do  with  them  when  I  do  meet  'em.  She  says 
the  world  is  just  full  of  bad  people,  and  we  ought  not  to 
make  friends  with  anybody  too  soon.  You  come  on,  go  back 
with  me  —  it's  just  a  little  ways  —  and  let  Mamma  see  you. 
You  look  like  a  nice,  good  man,  and  I  think  she  will  let  me 
go  with  you. 

"  Don't  anybody  but  Uncle  Tim  and  I  ever  shoot  around 
here,  and,  of  course,  when  I  heard  your  gun,  I  thought  'twas 
he." 

"All  right,"  John  said,  "  I'll  go  back  with  you,  and  ask 
your  mamma  if  you  can  go  with  me." 

Guided  by  the  boy  John  rapidly  threaded  the  forest  path, 
most  of  which  was  down  hill,  and  soon  emerged  into  a  valley 
of  only  a  few  acres  extent,  but  fair  and  fertile,  and  shut  in 
by  the  great  mountains.  As  they  came  along  John  heard  an 
indistinct  buzzing  or  roaring  sound,  though,  because  of  its 
indistinctness,  and  the  hurried  pace  of  his  companion,  he 
did  not  ask  its  origin. 


AFTER    ALL.  279 

In  the  middle  of  the  vale  was  a  pretty  little  vine-covered 
cottage,  neatly  white-washed,  and  with  a  rustic  veranda  all 
overgrown  with  a  profusion  of  flowering  morning  glories 
and  trumpet  creeper.  An  old  man  was  hoeing  the  trim 
garden,  to  one  side  of  the  house.  He  was  busy  at  his 
work,  and  did  not  notice  the  approach  of  the  stranger. 

As  they  came  around  to  the  front  of  the  house  they  saw  a 
woman  sitting  on  a  rustic  seat  under  an  apple  tree.  A 
spinning  wheel,  and  a  large  basket  piled  high  with  wool, 
stood  by  her  side.  She  was  carding  the  wool,  and  as  she 
finished  a  lot  of  it,  she  would  twist  it  on  the  spindle,  and 
then  give  the  wheel  a  turn  till  it  whirred  resonantly.  This 
was  the  noise  they  had  heard. 

Intent  on  her  work,  the  woman  did  not  see  them  till  they 
were  quite  close.  Then  as  the  boy  called  out,  "  here's 
Mamma,  now,"  not  thinking  but  that  her  child  was  alone, 
with  a  fond  mother's  smile  on  her  face,  she  raised  her  head 
to  look  at  him,  and  hark  to  his  childish  want. 

John  had  stopped  by  her,  and,  as  she  turned,  looked  full 
into  her  face.  It  was  Laura  Lane. 

She  knew  him  at  once;  and  for  a  moment  her  face 
blanched  almost  as  white  as  the  wool  which  slipped  from 
her  hands  onto  the  ground.  Then  the  color  came  rushing 
back  to  her  cheeks  in  a  great  surge,  and  tears  welled  up 
in  her  eyes.  John's  face  was  set,  white,  and  immovable. 
Thus  they  stood  looking  at  each  other  —  motionless  as 
though  turned  to  stone ;  and  neither  spoke. 

"O,  Mamma,  what  is  the  matter?  "  Johnnie  said,  break- 
ing the  silence,  seeing  that  something  out  of  the  usual  had 
happened. 

"  Shall  I  tell  him?  "  she  said. 


280  STUBS    OF   TIME. 

"  Yes,  tell  him,"  John  answered  in  a  broken  voice. 
Then  he  stooped  and  caught  the  lad  up  in  his  arms,  and 
kissed  him.  "  My  boy,"  he  said,  "  I  am  your  father." 

"  No  you  are  not;  — my  father  is  dead  —  he  died  long 
time  ago  —  before  I  can  remember.  Didn't  he,  Mamma? 

"Yes,  my  boy,  but  he  has  been  sent  back  to  us  by  a 
merciful  Providence.  Our  prayers  have  been  answered, 
and  he  is  come  back  to  us  ;  and  you  must  be  glad  and  love 
him." 

"  I  thought  my  father  was  dead ;  I'm  glad  he  isn't." 

"  Yes,  my  son,  I  am  he,  and  I  love  you." 

"  I  believe  you  are  my  father:  I  can  just  feel  you  love 
me  —  just  like  Mamma  does.  And  won't  you  stay,  and  live 
with  us  now  all  the  time,  and  not  go  'way,  and  die  any 
more?  I'll  show  you  how  to  shoot,  and  we  can  go  hunting 
together  every  day,  and  have  such  a  good  time." 

The  man  said  nothing ;  but  the  boy  felt  himself  drawn 
closer  in  his  father's  arms.  Then  he  was  put  down  gently 
on  his  feet,  and  John,  holding  him  by  the  hand,  looked  into 
the  beaming,  boyish  face. 

"It's  a  wonder  I  did  not  know  those  eyes,"  he  said; 
"  they  are  yours,  Laura.  And  I  remember  now  when  I 
first  laid  eyes  on  the  lad  something  startled  me,  but  I 
could  not  place  it  exactly  — I  didn't  know  what  it  was." 

"And  you  have  looked  for  me,"  Laura  said,  "and 
traced  me  till  you  have  found  me  in  the  wilderness.  I 
thought,  perhaps,  you  might  come  some  day.  My  love 
has  remained  as  firm  and  constant,  as  strong  and  enduring 
as  it  was  on  the  day  we  parted.  It  is  that  which  has 
brought  you ;  it  is  that  which  is  irresistible ;  —  a  power 
working  silently,  patiently,  potently ;  it  accomplishes  its 


AFTER    ALL.  281 

ends  with  resistless  certainty ;  for  it  works  in  harmony 
with  the  eternal  forces.  Other  things  may  triumph  for  a 
while ;  but  in  the  end  only  that  which  works  in  unison  with 
the  great,  good  laws  will  prevail.  You  will  not  leave  me 
any  more ;  for  I  believe  that  your  love,  too,  has  remained 
true,  and  we  will  be  married  —  married  in  law  and  custom 
as  we  have  been  in  soul." 

' '  Yes,  —  my  love  —  has  —  has  remained  —  true ;  but, 
Laura,  it  was  accident  which  brought  me  here  —  simply 
chance.  I  am  married." 

The  words  were  spoken  in  a  hoarse,  unnatural  voice, 
sounding  like  hollow  reverberations  from  the  chambered  dark- 
ness of  a  sepulchre  ;  and  they  were  followed  by  a  death-like 
stillness.  Laura  bowed  her  head  for  an  instant,  and  pressed 
her  hand  to  her  brow.  John's  expression  was  that  of  one 
in  agony,  hard  and  fixed. 

Laura  now  raised  her  head  and  looked  full  at  him.  Her 
face  was  white,  her  eyes  cold,  dry,  expressionless. 

"John,"  she  said  in  a  firm  voice,  "  if  you  are  married  it 
were  better  that  you  do  not  stay  here.  Leave  us  ;  leave  me 
and  my  boy,  and  go,  or  we  must  flee  from  you.  I  did  not 
know  you  had  a  wife,  or  I  would  not  have  spoken  as  I  did." 

She  got  up,  and  taking  her  son  by  the  hand,  started 
towards  the  house. 

John  stared  at  them  as  one  dazed.  When  they  had 
nearly  reached  the  door,  he  rushed  forward,  and  catching 
the  boy  in  his  arms,  kissed  him  passionately.  He  put  him 
down,  gave  one  look  at  Laura,  and  walked  rapidly  away. 

It  was  with  a  leaden  heart  that  he  retraced  his  steps  to 
the  humble  home  of  Burgess.  He  could  not  hunt ;  he  took 
interest  in  nothing  ;  he  could  scarcely  think. 


282  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

"What's  the  matter  with  you?"  Burgess  said,  as  the 
guest  sauntered  dejectedly  back,  "  come  back  mighty  soon. 
Got  tired  already?  —  ain't  had  no  luck?  —  couldn't  find  no 
game?  —  sick?  or  what  is  it?  Tain't  snack  time  yet.  Heard 
your  gun  —  ain't  shoot  yourself,  is  you?  You  look  sorter 
white  under  the  gills.  Maybe  it's  our  grub  ain't  settin'  easy 
on  your  stumick?  " 

"No,"  John  said,  "  nothing's  much  the  matter;  but  I 
couldn't  find  any  game  except  a  rabbit,  and  1  missed  him. 
I'm  feeling  a  little  indisposed,  Mr.  Burgess,  —  I'm  afraid 
this  mountain  air  doesn't  agree  with  me.  Then  there's  an 
affair  of  business  that  is  weighing  on  my  mind,  and  which 
I  have  been  thinking  of,  and  which  I  ought  to  go  back  and 
attend  to.  So,  all  things  being  considered,  I  have  decided 
that  I  must  go  back  to-morrow.  I  have  enjoyed  and  appre- 
ciated your  hospitality,  and  hope  you  will  accept  this  note 
as  a  token  of  my  regard  for  you.  I  suppose  Betsy  will  be 
willing  to  trust  you  to  town  to  get  it  changed.  I  hate  to  go 
so  soon,  but  it  is  absolutely  necessary." 

"  Pshaw!  pshaw!  "  his  host  exclaimed  in  a  tone  of  dis- 
appointment; "I'm  mighty  sorry  —  mighty  sorry.  You 
ought  to  have  had  Johnnie  to  go  huntin'  with  you,  and  you'd 
have  done  better,  and  wouldn't  be  so  down-hearted,  and  in 
such  a  hurry  to  get  back.  You  ain't  even  had  a  chance  to 
see  that  boy  yet;  he's  the  finest  thing  we's  ever  raised  in 
these  mountains,  and  I  wanted  you  to  see  'im  so  as  to  get  a 
good  opinion  of  somethin'  here  in  the  backwoods.  I'll  go 
over  there  after  him  this  evening,  and  bring  him  over  here 
just  to  let  you  see  him.  Let  him  tell  you  about  all  the  fish 
and  game,  and  wild  varmints  that  he  knows  of,  and  maybe 
you  won't  be  in  such  a  hurry  to  go." 


AFTER    ALL.  283 

"  No,  no  ;  please  don't,"  John  answered,  so  solicitously, 
that  Burgess  looked  at  him  curiously. 

"Umph!"  he  ejaculated, — "sudden  and  funny  dislike 
you've  took  to  these  mountains ;  and  you  was  so  pleased  at 
fust.  Can't  understand  it.  Reggin  this  fresh  mountain  air 
is  stirred  up  the  bile  in  you,  and  made  you  sorter  moody. 
If  you  jus'  stay  here  a  little  longer  'twill  all  settle,  and  git 
out  you,  and  you'll  feel  better  than  you's  done  for  years. 
Betsy  will  make  you  a  tonic  out  of  roots  and  yarbs  that'll 
make  you  feel  chirpy  as  a  chicken. 

"  Or  maybe  you's  taken  with  a  little  spell  of  homesick- 
ness —  want  to  see  your  wife  and  chillun ;  but  you'd  get 
over  that  blueness  in  a  few  days  after  you  cotch  onto  our  way 
of  livin',  and  we'd  let  you  'dopt  Johnnie  as  long  as  you 
stay." 

Ardslye  flinched  so  perceptibly  every  time  Johnnie  was 
mentioned,  that  it  did  not  escape  the  shrewd  observance  of 
Burgess.  He  was  in  no  better  position  to  tell  the  cause, 
however,  than  he  was  to  tell  what  was  going  on  in  the  moon  ; 
but  perceiving  that  his  talk  no  longer  interested,  but  rather 
worried  John,  he  soon  left  him  to  pursue,  uninterrupted,  his 
own  train  of  thought. 

XIV. 

Next  morning,  in  accordance  with  his  resolution,  John 
started  back  home.  As  the  train  pulled  out  from  the  depot  he 
gave  a  last  look  towards  the  mountains  —  towards  the  valley 
far  up  among  them,  where  she  lived  — Laura.  And  he  knew 
she  was  thinking  of  him.  He  felt  as  though  he  was  being 
borne  away  to  his  grave  ;  that  he  was  about  to  leave  all  the 
joy,  all  the  good  that  life  had  ever  held  for  him,  and  was  to 
be  shut  in  oppressive  darkness  —  hopeless  forever. 


284  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

On  getting  back  to  the  city  he  found  strange  occurrences 
taking  place  at  his  home.  A  notice  of  sale  was  the  first 
thing  that  greeted  him  as  he  entered  his  gate-way,  and  on 
going  a  little  further,  he  saw  that  the  house  was  filled  with 
strangers,  and  the  furniture  was  being  removed.  He  also 
noticed  that  people  looked,  and  pointed  at  him,  some  nod- 
ding and  winking  at  each  other,  while  others  smiled,  and 
shook  their  heads  knowingly.  He  felt  himself  to  be  the 
object  of  vulgar  curiosity,  and  perhaps  ridicule,  and  not 
knowing,  and  not  having  the  temerity  to  inquire  the  cause, 
he  speedily  retired  to  a  place  of  privacy  in  the  reading-room 
of  a  near-by  club.  While  there,  a  paper  having  come  into 
his  hands,  he  saw  his  name  and^that  of  his  wife  in  big  heavy 
type,  and  ascertained  the  cause  of  the  puzzling  conditions. 
In  a  highly  sensational  article  he  read  that  his  wife,  while 
abroad,  had  obtained  a  divorce,  and  had  been  wed  to  young 
Byrnewood;  that  she  had  sold,  and  disposed  of  all  her 
property  interests  in  America ;  had  bought  a  handsome 
villa  in  Southern  Italy,  where  in  the  future  she  and  her 
husband  would  reside. 

John  bowed  his  head  in  silent  adoration,  prayer,  and 
thanksgiving  when  he  had  read  this  startling  news. 

"  Thank  God,"  he  murmured,  "  I  am  now  left  a  pauper 
as  the  world  goes  ;  but  I  have  enough  money  in  my  pocket 
to  take  me  back  to  her  —  to  take  me  back  to  that  wealth 
whose  real  value  1  now  know.  I  have  tasted  the  bitter 
fruit  early  in  life,  and  I  now  know  what  things  are  of  real 
worth,  what  things  give  true  happiness,  what  things  are  of 
most  good  —  most  worth  striving  for." 

That  same  day  found  him  on  the  return  trip  to  the 
mountains.  And  the  afternoon  of  the  next  found  him 


AFTER    ALL.  285 

entering  the  valley  where  Laura  lived.  He  did  not  stop  at 
Burgess's  house ;  he  noticed  nothing  —  cared  for  nothing 
along  the  way;  he  only  wanted  to  see  her,  and  he  went 
straight  as  though  impelled  by  a  resistless  force. 

John  understood  himself  now :  he  knew  his  strength  and 
his  weakness ;  and  he  knew  that  Laura  had  always  known 
him.  His  character  was  balanced  now.  Once  he  had  been 
vacillating  and  indecisive,  taking  a  false  view  of  things ; 
but  he  was  steadied  now. 

As  the  sun  sank  behind  the  blue  range,  like  a  radiant  king 
wrapping  his  robes  of  purple  and  gold  about  him,  Ardslye 
came  in  sight  of  the  cottage.  There  it  was  resting  in  the 
beauteous  vale,  while  a  halo  of  peace  and  happy  content- 
ment seemed  to  hover  over  it.  The  stillness  of  the  summer 
afternoon  was  broken  only  by  the  bird  and  insect  choristers. 
The  bell-like  notes  of  the  wood  thrush  came  from  the  grove 
of  beech  trees  by  the  spring.  That  little  fount  of  bubbling 
melody,  the  house  wren,  flitted  about  in  the  alder  thicket 
near  the  path,  singing  with  its  accustomed  cheeriness. 

John  turned  aside  into  the  beech  grove  to  slake  his  thirst 
at  the  cool  spring  before  he  crossed  the  remaining  fifty  yards 
that  separated  him  from  the  house. 

Mankind  loves  to  dally  with  the  cup  of  joy,  as  the  thirsty 
toper,  restraining  himself ,  loves  to  look  in  eager  anticipation 
upon  his  glass  ere  he  quaffs  it.  Perhaps  the  larger  part  of 
life's  joy  is  in  anticipation.  Of  the  actual  realization  of 
felicity  there  is  little,  and  it  never  lasts  long.  When  can  a 
man  say,  "  now  I  am  happy;  now  I  have  achieved  all  that 
I  wish ;  now  I  will  enjoy  the  realization  of  my  ambition  and 
desires?  "  It  is  always  to-morrow,  next  month,  next  year. 
The  future  is  filled  with  the  phantom  shapes  of  satisfaction; 


286  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

which  lure  and  beckon,  but  vanish  or  recede  when  we  would 
come  up  with  them.  As  a  cat  delays  the  killing  of  a  mouse 
so  as  to  play  with  it,  and  prolong  the  pleasurable  excite- 
ment, so  we  hesitate  to  pluck  and  eat  the  fruit  for  which  we 
have  longed,  striven  and  prayed  —  knowing  that  once  eaten 
it  is  gone,  and  that  then  another  arduous  way  to  another 
goal  will  stretch  before  us ;  knowing  that  half  of  delight  is 
in  expectation  and  suspense.  Possibly  the  acme  of  mental 
joy  is  reached  not  in  the  actual  gratification  of  a  wish,  but 
in  the  consciousness  of  the  immediate  power  to  gratify  the 
wish. 

So  John,  having  quenched  his  thirst,  stood  on  the  thresh- 
old of  what  he  thought  to  be  the  crowning  joy  of  his  life, 
and  hesitated  to  enter,  while  he  looked  into  the  clear, 
bubbling  waters  of  the  spring,  and  mused.  He  could  feel 
the  quickened  beating  of  his  heart,  and  he  knew  that  he  had 
a  vague  fear  that  fate  might  turn  against  him  at  the  last 
moment. 

After  thus  pondering  for  some  time,  with  heart  beating 
faster,  he  turned,  and  started  towards  the  house.  As  he 
came  from  among  the  trees,  and  rounded  the  sharp  bend 
in  the  path,  he  walked  suddenly  against  a  woman.  The 
woman's  face  was  concealed  by  a  big  sunbonnet,  and  she 
carried  a  water  bucket  which  told  her  mission  at  the  spring. 

Recovering  from  his  surprise  at  the  collision,  John  hastily 
stepped  back  from  the  path  to  give  her  right  of  way.  But, 
she,  removing  the  bonnet  from  her  head,  looked  him  in  the 
eye ;  and  then  he  saw  it  was  Laura. 

"  Why  are  you  here —  why  have  you  come  again?  "  she 
asked  him. 

In  a  few  words,  he  told  her    everything ;  and  then  hand 


AFTER    ALL.  287 

in  hand  the}'  went  to  the  house.  Matters  were  explained 
to  the  good  old  couple  with  whom  Laura  lived,  and  such 
simple  arrangements  as  were  necessary  were  made  for  a 
speedy  wedding.  Burgess  was  sent  for,  and  consulted. 
He  was  much  pleased  at  the  turn  of  affairs ;  he  said  if  they 
would  just  give  him  time,  he  thought  he  could  get  a  fiddle 
and  some  dozen  or  so  mountain  girls  and  beaux  to  come 
and  celebrate  the  wedding  with  seemly  festivities. 

A  little  after  dark  Johnnie  came  in  with  a  string  of 
squirrels  he  had  shot.  His  mother's  joy  quickly  infected 
him ;  and  though  he  did  not  understand  everything,  he 
knew  that  his  father  had  come  to  stay  with  them. 

Within  a  week  John  and  Laura  were  married,  a  minister 
having  come  for  thirty  miles  over  the  mountains  to  per- 
form the  ceremony.  Tim  Burgess  found  it  so  difficult  to 
collect  guests  in  their  sparsely  populated  regions,  that  it 
was  decided  to  have  a  very  quiet  wedding.  But  the  fiddle 
was  forthcoming,  and  Tim  rendered  some  very  sweet  and 
sentimental  old  melodies. 

That  night  they  gathered  around  the  fire  in  their  room,  — 
John,  his  wife,  and  little  son ;  and  hearts  were  opened,  and 
the  stories  of  life  told. 

"  I  decided  not  to  go  to  the  city,"  Laura  said  in  answer 
to  her  husband's  questions  relative  to  her  leaving  home 
after  the  birth  of  her  child :  —  "I  did  not  want  to  go  there 
where  vice  stalks  abroad,  and  poverty,  where  it  exists,  is  so 
abject.  I  wanted  to  raise  my  child  amid  the  largeness  and 
sublimity  of  Nature.  In  the  woods,  in  the  fields,  there  is  no 
poverty,  no  vice.  I  wanted  to  raise  him  where  his  nature 
could  expand  in  all  of  its  true  proportions,  strong  and 
riginal.  For  he  was  conceived  in  love,  and  I  did  not  want 


288  STUBS    OF    TIME. 

him  bred  in  narrowness  and  conventionality.  Here  in  this 
mountain  valley  he  can  grow,  while  a  mother's  love,  and 
the  holy  influences  of  Nature  mold  his  character.  Here  let 
the  majesty  and  stability  of  the  mountains  be  impressed 
upon  his  character ;  let  the  pure  fresh  air  of  these  altitudes 
be  imbibed  in  his  very  soul ;  let  the  sinewy  lithesomeness  and 
grace  of  the  mountain  ash  be  that  of  his  frame ;  and  let 
the  tender  and  modest  beauty  of  the  wild  mountain  rose  be 
that  of  his  heart." 

Some  months  after  John  and  Laura  had  been  wed,  and 
while  they  were  living  in  that  rest  and  contentment  of  mind 
which  often  comes  as  the  aftermath  of  tribulation ;  while 
they  worked  cheerily  together  as  though  each  was  the  other's 
preordained  complement;  —  he  performing  joyously  the 
heavier  labor  which  was  necessary  to  meet  their  physical 
needs,  while  she  did  the  lighter:' — one  day  there  came  news 
that  Maud  Byrnewood  had  died  ;  that  during  her  last  illness 
her  mind  had  dwelt  constantly  on  John,  and  remorsefully 
on  her  treatment  of  him ;  and  that  she  had  made  her  will 
and  left  him  the  greater  part  of  her  fortune. 

The  news  caused  no  ripple  in  the  calm,  placid  life  of  John 
and  his  little  family. 

"  I  will  only  keep  enough  to  buy  this  valley  for  our 
home,"  he  told  Laura;  "the  rest  shall  go  to  educa- 
tional and  eleemosynary  institutions.  We  know  now 
wherein  happiness  consists,  and  that  the  voice  of  the  nobler 
instincts  is  the  only  guide  to  it.  Love  is  best  —  love  and 
a  high  purpose.  Life  is  worthless  which  has  no  ideal  above 
itself.  The  old  truths,  the  old  principles,  the  yearnings  of 
the  heart ;  — they  are  right  after  all." 


"J    000130780 


